


Savin' All My Love for You

by bisexualamy



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, F/M, Gambling, Gen, Jewish Character, Organized Crime, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualamy/pseuds/bisexualamy
Summary: After the untimely death of mob boss Howard Stark, Tony Stark has just taken over the family business of gambling, money laundering, and, most importantly, making sure the good people of the United States can drink.  New York City, 1924.  The stakes are high, but the payoff is higher, and well, a little crime never hurt anybody.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this all came from [this tumblr post](http://bisexualamy.tumblr.com/post/150885835399/pepperony-mobsterau) so full inspiration credit goes there. I'm a full time student who writes on the side, so hopefully I'll keep this up, and hopefully you guys will enjoy it.
> 
> Also note that the Stark family is part of the [Jewish-American mafia,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewish-American_organized_crime#Prohibition) because of my longstanding headcanon that the Starks are Jewish.

There are moments where the world just stops, and everyone knows where they were.  When someone tries to shoot the President, when the United States entered the Great War, there are moments that can only be remembered by the feeling of a complete and abrupt stop.  In the 1920s, everything just moved faster.  The cars were barrelling down the roads, the dance scene was as energizing as it was scandalous, and you couldn’t be young without feeling like your blood was racing to keep up.  So, when twenty-one year old Tony Stark’s world stopped, it was that much more abrupt.

He was sitting at a desk in his study in the home he shared with his parents, waiting for the two of them to drive home for dinner.  In his right hand he held a pen, and in his left, a lit cigarette, burning out between his fingers as he mused over the papers in front of him.  His father always said that the smell of cigarettes energized his thoughts, but Tony sometimes found the taste of ash too overpowering.  Right now, he was trying to force all of the Stark’s money into line.  Keeping the books on his father’s finances wasn’t exactly his idea of good time, but someone had to do it, and this house was definitely more full of muscle than brain power, so options were limited.  Frustrated with the fact that the math just wouldn’t work, he put out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray and ran his fingers through his hair.  It was then that someone knocked on the door.

“Tony,” came a voice.  He looked up to see his father’s best friend Obadiah Stane with his knuckles poised over the partially open door, ready to knock again if necessary.  Tony put down his pen.  He was about to ask Obie how he was, when he saw the man’s grave face.

“Obie…” Tony ventured, standing up.  “What’s wrong?”

“Tony, there’s been an accident,” Obie started.  Tony felt his throat go dry, and when Obie realized he wasn’t going to respond, he confirmed Tony’s worst expectation.

“Your father’s car was in an accident on its way back here.  With all of the snow, the roads were freezing over and it hit a patch of ice.  Both of your parents were inside-”

“Which hospital?”

“Tony-”

“Where did the ambulance take them?”

“Tony-”

“I need to see them!”

“Tony!”  Obie grabbed Tony’s arm to steady the man, who looked like he could drop at any moment.  “They called them dead when the ambulance got there.  They’re gone, Tony.”

Tony felt his stomach drop.  Underneath his feet, it was like the Earth had stopped turning.  He held onto Obie’s shoulder to ground himself and looked at him through the tears he was trying to fight back.

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m so sorry,” Obie said, pulling Tony into a hug, “and I’m sorry that you don’t have time to grieve just yet.  There’s business to deal with.”

“Business?” Tony asked.  Who could think of business at a time like this?

“The business of your father’s will,” Obie said.  “He left you everything.”

Tony let go of Obie, taking a step back, as if some freer air would help him collect his thoughts.

“What?” he finally managed, the shock still the only thing he could feel.

“You’re in charge, Tony.  Of the business.  Of the family.  Everything.  He gave it all to you.”

When Tony didn’t say anything, Obie shook his head, grabbed Tony’s suit jacket off a nearby chair, and handed it to him.

“Put this on,” he said, and Tony did, barely feeling the material on his skin.  “I’ll meet you at the docks at nine-thirty tonight.  We’re getting a new shipment delivered, and I need to introduce you to someone before it gets here.”

Tony swallowed hard and nodded.  Obie, realizing this was the best confirmation he was going to get, offered Tony a weak, sympathetic smile and said, “the whole thing is really just terrible.  Truly, you have my condolences.  But don’t worry, Tony, you’ll get used to it.  The first day is always the hardest.”

With that, Obie left.  The smell of the cigarette, still smoking in the ashtray, was the only thing Tony’s senses picked up as he stood in the center of the room, staring at the open door where Obie just was.  Tony had known that one day his father would die, in his line of work that was a given.  And sure, Howard was usually insufferable and had an almost constantly bitter temperament, but he was still Tony’s father.  The younger Stark had always assumed that his father would be assassinated by a rival family, or taken out in a gunfight with police.  A simple car crash due to inclement weather seemed too unceremonious, too  _ normal _ to take the life of Howard Stark.

And his mother, damn, he’d barely given that thought.  The sudden realization that he took her with him hit Tony like an eighteen-wheeler.  Maria Stark had known that her husband was a dangerous man, but also felt certain that that danger would never touched her.  Whether it was because she had no reason to be directly involved in her husband’s business dealings (and whether her womanhood or her young age was the deciding factor in that was never quite determined), or because Howard wanted to protect her, she was frequently left out of all his work activity.  Plausibly deniability was the best defense she could have in a legal battle, and the mob operated with a chivalry that would’ve never included the women.  Tony always felt certain that his mother would even outlive him, if things had kept going as they’d been.  Now, he wasn’t sure if anything could feel like a gospel truth anymore.

Feeling a chill run through him that he couldn’t quite blame on the December cold, Tony went downstairs, grabbing his overcoat on his way out, and started to walk towards downtown.  As he was leaving, one of the men his father kept around purely for their imposing size tried to stop him.

“Mr. Stark,” he said quickly, “you can’t just go walkin’ out on your own.”

Tony tried to wave him off, but when the man got in his way, Tony stopped sharply and stared him down.

“I can and I will,” he said, “and you’re not going to stop me, if I really am in charge now.  I’m headed out to eat, and frankly I don’t think any pretty girl is going to want to talk with me on the way there with the likes of you hanging around, so go back in the house, and just so we’re clear, you never saw me head out.  Got it?”

The man in front of him looked very confused, as if he was processing Tony’s words, but he didn’t need to get the full weight of the younger Stark’s meaning when Tony wouldn’t drop his glare.  The man nodded seriously, then went back inside the house.  Tony pulled his jacket more tightly around him and walked down the sidewalk, intentionally passing his own car without giving it so much as a glance.

***

James Rhodes, affectionately called “Rhodey” by friends and coworkers he liked, had just ordered his entree and resigned himself to eating alone.  He looked around the dimly lit restaurant before shaking his head and letting out a sigh.  It was a family-run establishment, off the side road of a side road, but the perfect place to be if you knew to look for it in the first place.  The waiter, a man well into his fifties who had more conversation starters than regulars, had just refilled Rhodey’s glass of water for the third time when he looked quizzically at his customer and said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were paranoid about something.”  He then chuckled to himself, as if this was an absurd, yet true concept.

“I’ve got a lot of reasons to be paranoid,” Rhodey countered, taking a sip of his water and looking off to the side towards the door.  He drummed his fingers on the table absentmindedly, wishing restaurants still served beer.

“You’re young, and you’ve got a job that gives you a gun,” the waiter replied, gestured to where he knew Rhodey had his weapon holstered.  “I’d say you’re in a better place than most people.”

“Hey, I’m just a beat cop,” Rhodey said with a laugh, “and there are plenty of people in this city that wish there were less of me.”

He was about to continue when the bell on the door chimed, signaling a new arrival.  A man rushed inside, letting all of the cold in with him despite his haste, and sat down across from Rhodey.

“Can I have a whis- fuck, no I can’t,” he said.  His breath was audible, like he’d been walking faster than usual.  “Just give me some damn water and a menu.  I can’t be here long.”

“What’s got you in such a rush?” Rhodey asked.  “You only had me waiting for twenty minutes.  I think that’s a speed record on your part.”

“Could you drop the attitude for a moment?” Tony said, finally taking off his overcoat as the waiter handed him his menu and set down his water glass.  The waiter glanced between the two of them before deciding that tonight was not a night where they needed any kind of third party, and said, “I’ll give you some time to look that over,” before walking in the direction of another table.  Rhodey looked at his friend skeptically.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked.  “First you drop a note off at the station saying that you need to speak to me tonight, when I usually can’t get you to come down and even  _ pick me up  _ without an impossibly good reason.  Now you’re trying to get me to  _ stop _ joking?”

“I’m serious, Rhodey,” Tony muttered, taking a long sip of his water.

“What’s got you so on edge, Tony?”

Tony stared at the glass in front of him for a moment, slightly rotating it back and forth, before saying, “my dad is dead.  My mom too.  They were in that car accident on Madison.  Apparently the road was too icy to drive, but you’d think that they would’ve closed the place off if someone could get hurt-”

Tony cut himself off as he could hear his words coming out faster and his tone getting more bitter.  Not ready to risk losing his filter, he instead took another big sip of his water and gritted his teeth.  Water was not cutting it tonight.

“Tony, I-” Rhodey stopped himself from saying anything pitying, knowing his friend wouldn’t want to hear it.  “That’s terrible.  There’s nothing else to say besides that.”

“It’s just the way things are,” Tony muttered, but his intonations showing that he really didn’t believe that.  “I just have to deal with it.  And now I have to take over his businesses like nothing happened.  My dad might be dead, but the economy is booming.  No time for grieving.”

“I don’t think anyone would blame you if you took a few days off.”

“Obie wants to show me the ropes tonight.  It’s been made very clear to me that I can grieve in my time off.  It’s what my old man would’ve wanted, anyway.”

Tony sighed, glancing around for the waiter, before angrily waving him over and ordering a small entree.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t stay long,” he continued.  “I need to meet Obie at nine-thirty.  I just wanted to see you beforehand.  Figured… hell, I don’t know what I figured, but you’re my best friend, so you seemed like the right person to have dinner with tonight.”

“Anytime, Tony, seriously,” Rhodey reassured him.  He knew that Tony wouldn’t want a slew of sentimentalities, so he changed the subject to work, and despite the fact that Tony felt just a bit uneasy when he was faced with the fact that his best friend was a cop, he listened gratefully to anything that didn’t have to do with the family business.

***

At nine-fifteen, Tony excused himself from the table and walked fifteen minutes down to the docks of New York Harbor.  The December wind bit at his ankles and cheeks, their bright red hue masked by the darkness of a cold winter’s night.  When he arrived, he saw Obie standing so inconspicuously off to the side, hands in his overcoat pockets, that Tony nearly missed him in the dark.  He knew what standard practice was: that they really shouldn’t be seen together more than necessary in public, but this was barely public and frankly unavoidable.  Still, he wouldn’t have to make it obvious.

He walked over and stood next to Obie, who was looking out over the harbor, and didn’t make eye contact.  Instead, to the harbor, he muttered, “what’re you waiting for?”

“A delivery,” Obie muttered back.  “An expensive one.”

“Cold night for that,” Tony replied.

“Bitter night,” Obie agreed, “but work is work.”

They stood there, staring out at the harbor for another moment, before Obie said, “you’re going to need to sign for the shipment.  They’ll only talk to a Stark.”

“Sign?” Tony asked incredulously. “So there’s a record?”

“It’s insurance,” Obie replied.  “They keep a book for insurance purposes.  You don’t betray them, they won’t betray you.  Simple.  Just make sure the product’s good.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked.  “You’re not coming with me?”

“No, she is,” Obie said, gesturing off to the side.  Into the faint dock light walked a blonde woman who looked about Tony’s age.  She stood tall, wearing a long overcoat and silent, flat shoes.  Even in the dark, Tony felt her stare send a chill through him, and though she felt familiar, he recognized her only by the nagging feeling of once meeting her.

“Pepper Potts,” she said as an introduction, looking out across the harbor with the two men.  She made no move to shake Tony’s hand.

“Pepper, that can’t be your real name,” Tony said before he could stop himself.

“It’s the only name you’ll get,” Pepper replied.  “I was the primary bookkeeper for all of your father’s shipment records, and I’ll do the same for you, Mr. Stark.  I’m here to assist you in any way.”

“That’s impossible,” Tony said.  “I kept books for my father.”

“Yes,” Pepper replied, “and I corrected your work.”

Tony was about to respond, when the three of them saw a light flicker out on the harbor.

“That’s your cue,” Obie said, and as he turned to walk away he said, “good luck, Tony.”  He then spent another moment in the light of the dock before the dark swallowed him up.

Tony and Pepper stood in silence for a moment before Tony said, “you know, in terms of needing to correct me-”

“Don’t bruise your ego over it,” Pepper said.  “You’re a very smart man, but the family mostly needs you as a figurehead.  Enjoy that.”

Tony was just about to ask what that meant, and where his father possibly found someone like Pepper, when the light got brighter.  It was now close enough for Tony to realize that it was a lantern hanging on a post in a small boat.  The boat pulled in alongside the dock, and Pepper and Tony both got in next to a middle-aged man with greying stubble.

“You must be the young Mr. Stark,” he said.  Tony nodded.  “My boss is very excited to meet you,” the man continued.  “I hope you’re good at first impressions.”

The rest of the trip out to a larger boat, concealed in shadow from the dock, was silent.  As they boarded the larger boat, they were greeted by a second man, clean-shaven and not looking like he just spent what must’ve been days on a boat.  Tony realized at this point that he was the captain.  He smiled at them, recognizing Pepper, and saying, “you must be Tony Stark.  Shame about your father, but I think I have something that could brighten up your day.”

Tony said nothing in response, simply shaking the man’s hand and following him down to the storeroom below deck.  Inside were several locked crates.

“Mr. Stark requires a preview of the goods before we agree to have you dock in our harbor,” Pepper said.

“Of course,” the man replied.  He unlocked one of the crates, and inside were bottles of liquor.  “Rum straight from the Caribbean,” the man said.  “The best stuff you can get your hands on.  We’ve got your vodka and your brandies too, whiskey by the bottles, and a present to the family,” he went to yet another crate and pulled out a bottle, “some decent wine.  Because you always pay me so well.”

Tony looked at Pepper, who was doing her best not to show a lot of outward happiness.  Instead, she said, “that’s not the whole shipment.”

“You’re right,” the man replied, going over to the final two crates and unlocking them.  Inside were stashes of automatic weapons and boxes of bullets by the dozens.  “For your protection, of course, Mr. Stark.  Satisfied?”

Tony cleared his throat, and seeing no wary looks from Pepper, put on his most charming tone and said, “very.  We’ll take it all, as promised.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with your family, Mr. Stark.  We’ll give you a ride back to the docks on the ship, and I’m assuming you brought your own way to transport this?”

“A truck will be waiting for us when we dock,” Pepper supplied.  “We just need your men to unload it.”

“Consider it done,” the captain said.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony was overseeing a mix of his men and the smuggler captain’s men loading the crates onto one of his family’s trucks.  Pepper stood by him, silently noting who was helping and what was in each crate on a pad of paper that she’d taken out of her overcoat pocket.  When everything was finished, Tony thanked the captain and the truck took off driving down the road.

“Your car is also here, Mr. Stark,” Pepper said.

Tony felt a lump forming in his throat.  “I’d rather walk,” he told her.

“It’s freezing,” she countered, “and you’ll get yourself sick, which is the last thing we need.”

“I’d rather walk,” Tony insisted.  “You can join me if you want, if you’re so concerned about my wellbeing.”

“There’s no point in both of us getting sick,” Pepper said, but after a moment of thought, followed her statement up with, “but I’d be out of my mind if I let you walk home by yourself.”

“You really think you can protect me?” Tony asked with a smirk.

“No,” Pepper said, “I know I can.  When was the last time you shot a gun?”

Tony was hesitant to say that he’d never been in any kind of situation where he’d  _ needed _ a gun, but his silence said everything.

“That’s what I thought,” Pepper said, and if Tony didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn she was smug.  “Come on!” she called as she began to walk away from him and in the direction of the Stark mansion.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Tony muttered, following her down the dimly lit sidewalk.


	2. Chapter 2

In the three weeks that followed that night, Tony Stark went to the docks with Pepper and signed for four more shipments of guns and alcohol.  It was odd to him that something so illegal, and arguably risky (though he was assured by many a member of the family that he was basically untouchable; Tony chalked this up to a cockiness he found himself perpetuating), would begin to feel routine, yet that’s what happened.  By the fourth time, when Pepper told him they needed to leave to pick up more supplies, he actually groaned.

“Do we have to?” he’d asked.  He’d already had his jacket on, but for a different purpose.  Tonight was a night he’d planned to go out.

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” she’d said.  “I know that being wealthy and important is difficult for you, but you’ll just have to manage.”

Of course, being head of a mob family gave him plenty more opportunities to go out and enjoy himself.  They ran a speakeasy out of a secondary property, in the form of a downtown storefront bought under falsified documents.  One of Tony’s more imposing men sat behind the counter, and if a customer said the right phrase, he would bring them into the back, pat them down, and lead them downstairs.  The place mostly operated as a smaller, more intimate establishment for people who could afford its prices, but Tony was informed that they had the capacity for much larger events.  He tucked that information away in his mind to use later.

The speakeasy also hosted nightly poker games for New York’s elite, and one night a week the place was closed for Obie to entertain some of his friends.  These men would sit in a corner of the speakeasy, smoking cigars and playing cards, drinking brandy, whiskey, and scotch until the game became too incoherent to continue.  It amazed Tony how much blackmail he’d acquired in just a few weeks of being in charge.  He soon learned that Pepper’s notepad from the docks kept track of a lot more than just shipments and workers.  She had every speakeasy guest named and catalogued, complete with enough specific information to take away their chance for a decent alibi.  If the Starks were going to stick their necks out breaking the law, then every customer with some semblance of esteem was going to insure that investment as best they could.

In just the first week after the crash, Tony saw politicians, socialites, even a few high-ranking police officers pass through their doors.  By week three, he knew what the regulars drank and could predict how late they were going to stay.  It was absurd to him how easy their movements were to track.  Most of them came to the speakeasy via the same route, and stumbled out headed directly home, without a sign of doubling back or covering their tracks.  Sure, the New York City streets practically flowed with illegal alcohol, but he expected the people enforcing and making the laws to, at the very least, care a bit more about the appearance of upholding them.

However, Tony’s favorite guests of the night were the actors, singers, and dancers, who he saw at least one of every night until the early morning hours.  Unlike their richer and more influential counterparts, these customers had a practical abhorrence for the law, or really anything that kept them from enjoying themselves.  Tony liked them, because he appreciated people who knew what they wanted, especially when what they wanted was him.

“Mr. Sta-ark!” one of the girls called out to him, sing-songing her words.  It was close to a month after the crash.  She giggled and ran over to him, sitting next to him at a high, round table and putting her arm around his shoulders.  She kicked her heels off under the table and put her stocking feet up on a chair across from her.  Her hair was bobbed just above her chin, and her dress and gloves glittered in the light coming from the candles scattered around the room.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, this place is just to  _ die _ for!” she said, leaning in closer to him.  “Y’know, a friend of mine has been comin’ here for weeks, and she  _ finally _ helped me get up the nerve to stop by.  I’m just so happy I came!  And it helps that the owner’s so nice and easy on the eyes.”

She giggled again before flagging down a waiter and taking a shot glass off his tray.  In a moment she’d knocked back the alcohol and put the glass down on the table.

“I better be going soon,” she said, her voice low.  “I’ve got to dance all tomorrow night, and I’m going to have a wicked hangover in the morning.”  She paused, making eyes at Tony, her fingertip trailing up his arm.  “Unless… you had another idea.”

Tony didn’t get a chance to answer before Pepper interjected, putting a hand on Tony’s other arm to get his attention.

“So sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Mr. Stark’s attentions are needed elsewhere,” she said.  Her soft hand on Tony’s bicep turned into a hard grip, and she practically yanked him off his chair and away from the table.

“What was that about?” Tony muttered.  “I think my attention was well suited where it was.”

“You do not sleep with the customers,” Pepper replied, equally as quietly.  “It’s bad for business.”

“It’s good for me, and what’s good for me is good for business.”

“You know what it’s also good for?  Giving you a certain reputation that I’m sure many members of the family wouldn’t appreciate.  Customers come and go, but you upset the family, and you’re going to have much bigger, more permanent problems.”

“Is that a threat?” Tony asked, stopping her from walking anymore and wrenching his bicep free.  He turned to face her.

“It’s a promise,” Pepper replied, not shaken.  “My job is to manage your business and keep you in line.”

_ “I’m _ in charge of  _ you,” _ Tony reminded her.

“You wouldn’t last a day without me,” Pepper said, “and that’s another promise.”

***

Though Tony knew that he wasn’t supposed to get drunk off of the merchandise, it didn’t stop him.  He was in his twenties, the prime of his life, so really, it would be  _ more _ of a crime for Pepper and Obie to get in the way of his fun.  As much as Pepper tried to control him, she soon learned to pick her battles, and instead decided to not let him off the hook when he had an inevitable hangover later.

When she knocked on his door at ten the next morning and got no response, she expected to see him in bed, covers over his eyes, trying to block out the sun.  Instead, when she opened the door, she saw his sitting at his desk, furiously drawing on several scattered pieces of paper.  He was only half dressed, with his shirt partially buttoned and his tie loose around his neck.  Pepper was just grateful that he’d put on pants before falling prey to whatever had distracted him.

“Mr. Stark?” she asked.  This sound finally got his attention.  He looked up, saw Pepper, and then went back to what he was doing.  Pepper was about to ask him what was going on when he waved her over to the desk.  She walked over, leaning her hand on the back of his chair, and peered over his shoulder, but looking at Tony’s papers didn’t help her understanding at all.  His drawings were ambiguous at best, his writing looked like gibberish, and any shorthand or symbols he was using provided only him with additional clarity.

“Mr. Stark, what is this?” she asked.

“Imagine this, Pepper,” Tony said, sitting up from his work and turning in his chair to face her.  “What if the door to the speakeasy knew who was allowed in and who wasn’t?”

“What?” Pepper asked.  “Mr. Stark, we have security for that.”

“People make mistakes,” Tony countered.  “Machines don’t.  Think about it, Pepper.  What if there was a way for our alarm system to be so advanced that there was no potential for discovery?  What if the store itself  _ knew _ who should be allowed back and who didn’t?  What if we could close the store for the night and have the door selectively unlock for the right kinds of people?”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s absurd,” Pepper said.  “This is a fantasy.  There’s no way for a building to judge what kinds of people should be allowed back into the speakeasy, and which ones would be detrimental to our business.  Where did you even get an idea like this?”

“I dreamed up the whole thing last night,” Tony said, and then quickly kept up talking before Pepper could make a comment.  “And I know what you’re thinking, that sounds ridiculous, but trust me.  I know I can build this.  I’m  _ sure  _ that there’s a way this can work, and it’ll up our security tenfold.  I can make it so we can have more storefronts that don’t need guards.  I can create a network of speakeasies all over the city.  We’d be rich beyond our wildest dreams-”

“Even if you  _ could _ build this,” Pepper interrupted, “and even if you had the time to do it, where would you get the materials?  Where would you have the workspace?”

“I’ll talk to Obie,” Tony said.  “He’ll understand.  I’m trying to help this family be better.  I’m trying to improve business.”

“The best way you can improve business is by drinking less and not flirting with customers,” Pepper said.  “Mr. Stane has done an excellent job and managing the business.  He worked with your father for decades-”

“It’s my job to manage the business,” Tony said, standing up.   _ “I’m _ in charge here, not Obie, and if I think this is a worthwhile investment, I’m going to use  _ my _ money from  _ my  _ family’s business to fund it.  My father left me in charge of the family, no one else.  That’s the end of it.”

He sat back down and picked up his pen.

“That’ll be all, Ms. Potts,” he said, not looking up from what he was doing.  Pepper looked at the back of his head for a moment before letting out a small sigh and leaving the room.

***

Obadiah Stane, unlike his younger boss, preferred nights that consisted of a single brandy and a good cigar, rather than making sure the speakeasy was running smoothly.  Tonight, however, was less of a night for partying and more of a night for poker, which he appreciated a good deal more.  So, now he was enjoying both his brandy and cigar around a cards table, with the added pleasure of a large stack of poker chips in front of him.  As he lay his cards out on the table, there was a collective groan from his opponents, and Obie smiled smugly before scooping up the chips in the center of the table.

“This shit’s rigged,” said one of the men across from Obie.  He took a long drag from his cigar before blowing the smoke towards Obie’s face.

“You know what they say about trying to beat the house,” another man agreed.

“Gentlemen, please,” Obie said.  “If you think the rules are unfair, you’re more than welcome to find another place to play.”

When no one spoke up, Obie nodded to himself.

“That’s what I thought,” he said with a small laugh.  “Now, the game is five card stud, nothing wild-”

He was about to continue laying out the rules when they could hear footsteps coming quickly down the stairs.  Through the doorway came Tony, the cold from the outside clinging to his jacket.  He was holding a stack of papers in gloved hands.

“Obie,” he said, a bit out of breath, like he’d run from the house.  “I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait?” Obie asked.  “We were just about to play another round.  You know we only do this once a week, Tony.”

“It’ll be two seconds, I promise,” Tony insisted.  “Everyone can have another drink on me, just please, I need to speak with you.”

Obie sighed, turning to the rest of the table.

“I guess everyone go pour themselves another glass,” Obie said.  “If you’ll excuse me.”

Obie followed Tony back up the stairs to the storefront.  The lights were dimmed for the evening, and a “closed” sign hung on the door.  The place was a pawn shop by a different name, selling everything from watches to lamps to knick knacks.  You couldn’t go two blocks in the city without finding one just like it.

“Where’s the fire, Tony?” Obie asked, his tone more annoyed than Tony would’ve liked.

“I need access to my dad’s accounts,” Tony said.  “I went to the bank to make a withdrawal and they told me that I didn’t have permission to access the money, which is bullshit, because he left it all to me.  I told them that, and they said I’d have to get the permissions from the primary account holder, which is you, so I need you to give me the combo for the lockbox in my dad’s office so I can get the papers and-”

“Slow down, Tony,” Obie said.  “What do you need that money for?”

“I have an idea of how to improve business,” Tony said, holding up the papers in his hands, “but I need some money to get it off the ground.  I’d explain the whole thing to you, but I don’t want to keep you.  Besides, this is all irrelevant.  I wouldn’t even be having this conversation with you if the bank hadn’t gotten the account information mixed up.  That money is mine; my dad left it to me in his will.  I shouldn’t even need your permission to access it.”

“That money is the family’s, Tony.”

“And I’m the one that manages the family,” Tony said.  He looked at Obie suspiciously, not understanding why this conversation had lasted even this long.  Pepper’s comment about Obie being the one to manage business ran through his mind, but he dismissed it.  Pepper didn’t know what she was talking about.

“By extension, I manage the money.  I need that combination, Obie.”

“Your father wouldn’t want you to chip away at the family’s accounts,” Obie said.  “Especially for some mystery project that you’re not even explaining to me-”

“If you really want I can sit down with you and-”

“You know what, Tony?” Obie said, waving away Tony’s words.  “You’re right.  This conversation is irrelevant.  I’m the one who got control of your father’s accounts after your parents died, so technically, it’s my money.  You’re not entitled to it.”

“My father left it to me, not you.  It was a mistake on the bank’s part.”

“It was not a mistake,” Obie said.  “Your father needed to designate a secondary account holder for situations such as this one.  He designated me, not you, which is why I have control of the accounts.  He may have left you the power of running the family in his will, and all of his business ventures, but legally, he left me all of the money, and I’m not so sure you’re responsible enough at your age to have any control over those accounts.”

Tony looked at Obie incredulously.  There was no way his father’s best friend, second-in-command of the family, would intentionally disrespect his father’s wishes.

“I want to see the will,” Tony said.

“What, you think I’m lying to you?” Obie asked.  “Tony, what reason would I have to do that?  If I really wanted to go against what your father wanted, I wouldn’t have put you in charge of the family.  I would’ve just taken everything for myself.”

Tony shook his head, not quite sure how to process everything Obie was saying.  In a way, it did make sense.  Why only try and seize power halfway if he’d wanted it all?  It didn’t add up.

“I can give you an allowance, if you’d like,” Obie said.  “It’ll be in your personal account tomorrow morning.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to winning at poker.  Glad this little mishap was cleared up.”

Obie smiled at Tony, patting him on the shoulder.  He then turned and walked back down the stairs, leaving Tony standing in the faint light of the storefront, staring at where Obie was once standing.  After a moment, Tony put the papers in the inside pocket of his overcoat, then thrust his hands into the outside ones, ready to brave the cold.  He still felt the impression of Obie’s hand on his shoulder, and something besides the wind was already making him shiver.  It was probably nothing.

***

“Rhodes!  Get in here!”

Rhodey looked up from the report he was filling out to see that his supervising sergeant, Sgt. Charles Peterson, had left his office and was standing a few desks down, waving Rhodey towards him.  Rhodey put down his pen and, trying to stay as neutral-faced as possible, followed Charles back into his office.  A talk with a commanding officer was usually a bad sign, and Rhodey had no reason to believe that this man liked him.  Supposedly, he was tough on everyone, but recently Rhodey had been feeling the heat over everything, from his paperwork to the way he wore his uniform.

The sergeant closed the door and sat behind his desk.  He gestured for Rhodey to take the seat across from him, and Rhodey did, still on alert.

“You’re a good cop, Rhodes,” the sergeant said.  Rhodey was about to thank him, but the man continued.  “That’s why I think you’re the perfect man for a special assignment that’s just come to my attention.”

“Special assignment?” Rhodey asked, not sure where this was going.

“Are you familiar with the car accident that happened on Madison Avenue earlier this month?” Sgt. Peterson asked.

Rhodey felt his breath stop.  Wasn’t that the accident that killed Tony’s parents?  He couldn't imagine why that would be a police matter.  Still, he didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.

“There are lots of car accidents that happen all over the city,” he replied.  “I can’t say I paid special attention to any of them.”

“You’re at least familiar with the Stark family, aren’t you?  The wealthy trading and business family from Manhattan?”

“Yes, and sir, if this concerns them-”

“A few weeks ago there was a car crash on Madison Avenue.  Inside were Howard and Maria Stark.  Both were pronounced dead on arrival, and the whole mess was publicly ruled an accident.”

“The car skid on ice,” Rhodey supplied, too hung up on the way the sergeant had phrased that explanation to try and inform him of his personal relationship to Tony.

“It’s been requested that we look further into the matter, after this report from the medical examiner found its way onto my supervisor’s desk.”

Sgt. Peterson handed Rhodey a file, which he took skeptically.  After a moment of skimming over the report, Rhodey couldn’t stop the shock from showing on his face.

“They were shot?” Rhodey said just as he saw the words.

“The bullets were removed from their bodies before the police arrived,” the sergeant confirmed.  “And they were posed behind the wheel.  Someone went to great lengths to make it look like they died from injuries related to what we now suspect was a staged car accident.”

Rhodey couldn’t quite believe what he was reading.  Why would someone want Howard and Maria Stark dead?  What was he going to tell Tony?  Could he even let this information leave this office?

“Sir,” he said, his thoughts still swirling in his brain, “this is terrible, but I still don’t understand where I come in.”

“A few weeks ago, Tony Stark called this precinct looking to speak specifically with you, is that right?”

“He wanted to meet me for dinner,” Rhodey replied warily.  “We’re friends.  We went to high school together.”

“Good, that’s good, Rhodes,” the sergeant said, leaning back in his chair.  He paused for a long moment, looking past Rhodey’s head to the back wall of his office, as if he was considering a difficult decision.  Finally, he said, “I need you to find out if anyone had a reason to kill Howard and Maria Stark.”

“Sir, I’m not a detective,” Rhodey said.  “Surely, you have people more qualified-”

“We already have detectives working with what information we have,” the sergeant said.  “What we need from you is-”

“-more information,” Rhodey said, finally realizing what was going on.  “You want me to spy on my best friend for you?”

“Son, this isn’t spying-”

“Can I tell him what’s going on?”

“We’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“Then it’s spying.”

The sergeant sighed, putting his forearms on the desk and leaning his body in towards Rhodey.  “Think of this like… an undercover assignment,” he said.

“Why would Tony not have a right to know that his parents were murdered?” Rhodey asked.

“We don’t have enough evidence at the moment to make any sort of claim, Rhodes,” the sergeant said.  “Why put Tony through all of that heartache when there might be an easy explanation for all of this?”

“If they really were shot, I don’t see that happening,” Rhodey countered.

“Those are your orders, Rhodes,” the sergeant said sternly, straightening up.  “Follow them and keep your job, or don’t and walk out that door, but I’ll tell you what, you’re not helping your friend by telling him about what we’re looking into.  I’m sure he has enough to worry about without also focusing on a murder investigation.”

Rhodey stared across the desk at his commanding officer.  He knew in his heart that Tony would want to know what was going on, but Tony was raw.  He’d barely started to recover from his parents’ deaths, and reopening that wound would do him no good, especially if this turned out to be nothing.  The guilt nagging at him said that agreeing to this would be a mistake, but what was he going to do?  He couldn’t stand his ground without also losing his job, and he’d fought tooth and nail to even be considered for this position in the first place.  Tony would understand.

“I’ll see what I can do for you, sir,” Rhodey said quietly.

“Good.  Dismissed, Rhodes.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Tony Stark went to the bank to check his account the next morning, he saw that Obie had been good on his word.  A sizable amount had been added, and while he still had a bitter taste in his mouth from the night before, he still withdrew the money and went ahead as planned.  Stowing the bills away in various pockets in his jacket, he spent the walk home thinking about all of the raw materials he had to order before a realization stopped his feet: he had no idea how to place an order without Pepper.  Local hardware stores wouldn’t have the material abundance or the ability to keep up with Tony’s nitpicking specificities.  No, he’d have to order directly from factories, especially if he wanted to keep within his budget, and he had no idea where to start.

Still, asking Pepper was out of the question.  She’d shot this idea down within a minute of hearing it, and even though he  _ definitely  _ didn’t need her approval, it would make him seem weak to go back to her asking for favors before she got up the good sense to apologize to him, and looking weak in front of the family was the last thing he wanted to do.  Besides, how hard could this be?  He had a telephone.  He’d just track down the numbers and call himself.

By the time he’d made it back to house, it was bustling.  The living room and kitchen must’ve had a combined ten people eating, cooking, talking, and generally making a mess.  He pushed past three relatives who tried to ask him how he was doing before he’d gotten to house’s only telephone, sitting on the desk inside his father’s old office.

During the walk over, Tony’s had pictured himself walking promptly through the house before he strode confidently into the office, picked up his father’s phone, and dialed the closest steel manufacturing plant, but that’s not what happened.  Instead, he stood frozen in the doorway, looking at the stacks of paper, untouched except for a bit of refiling by Obie’s hand.  The lockbox with his father’s best brandy still sat under the desk, pens still lay scattered on any surface worth writing on, and a sense of curated chaos still emanated from the room’s every corner.  Tony might’ve stood there for full minutes, wondering why he couldn’t move his legs, when he heard the front door slam, and the distinctive sound of Obie’s footsteps trudge in, amplified by heavy winter boots.  Blinking his way out of his stupor, he slipped into the office and shut the door.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected on the walk over, as he sat down in his father’s desk chair and stared at the phone’s dial like a long enough look would give him the answers he needed.  Did his father keep a book of all of the important numbers he’d needed?  Wouldn’t that be a liability?  As Tony started rummaging around in the desk’s unlocked drawers, he heard the door open.  He froze, as if sitting very still with his head bowed at the level of the desk drawers was going to render him invisible, but instead of hearing Obie’s voice scolding him, he heard Pepper’s.

“Mr. Stark,” came a tone that was trying its best to be neutral.  “Are you looking for something?”

Now that he knew it was safe to look up, he raised his head and tried to put on an even larger air of confidence.

“What are you doing opening the door to my dad’s old office, Ms. Potts?” he asked.

“I was told to keep this door open at all times,” Pepper replied.  “Obie’s orders.  I guess he doesn’t want anyone in here that doesn’t belong.”

“Well, then there’s no problem,” Tony said.

“Guess not,” Pepper replied, her lips pursed in a thin line as she stared at Tony, refusing to drop her gaze even after she was done speaking.  “Do you need any assist-”

“I’m fine, thank you, Ms. Potts,” Tony said sharply.  Pepper stood in the doorway for another moment before turning to leave, and Tony was convinced he would keep his resolve until she was gone, before he found himself calling, “although-” and that was enough to bring her footsteps clicking back in his direction.

“Yes?” she asked, though her tone was flatter than a question’s should be.

“It looks like someone misplaced the phone numbers my old man had for various raw materials manufacturers in the area,” Tony said.  “I don’t suppose you-”

“I keep them on file with my things now,” Pepper replied hastily.  “Do you need me to get them for you?”

“That was why I was asking about them, Ms. Potts,” Tony replied.  Pepper nodded, somehow managing to press her lips together even more tightly, before leaving the doorway once again.  Tony heard her heels make sharp sounds on the hardwood floor for a few moments, stop, and then pick up again as she walked back towards the office.  

In her hand was a small address book, and her thumb held it open to a specific page.  She placed the opened book on Howard Stark’s old desk, before looking back at Tony and saying, “if you needed to place orders you could’ve-”

“That will be all, Ms. Potts,” Tony said forcefully.

Pepper stopped speaking, but narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at Tony, her breath soft and measured.  Without another word, she left the office, leaving the door open just a crack.

***

Between his silver tongue, substantial allowance, and sheer determination to not let Pepper win, Tony placed orders for steel, electronic parts, general equipment, and other miscellaneous items, promised by manufacturers to get to him within a week’s time.  In the meantime, he set up shop in his room, littering paper on every available surface as he drew up sketches and potential schematics for his, admittedly vague, automated alarm idea.  As he drew, the concept developed, and soon the nights he had spent making sure everyone was drunk and happy in the speakeasy were instead focused on nailing down the details of the machine he was determined to create.

Two days before the delivery date each manufacturer swore they’d make, Rhodey sent word to Tony, asking him to lunch.  Tony had been specific about Rhodey using discretion when delivering messages to the house, and while Rhodey thought Tony’s paranoia was a bit hypocritical (especially when Tony saw no problem with dropping off messages at the police station), he’d paid a boy on the street a quarter to slip it through the mail slot while Rhodey watched from an opposite street corner.  The note said that he was going to be at their usual spot at one-thirty that afternoon, and Tony should meet him there to catch up.  If no one came within fifteen minutes, Rhodey would take his food to-go and head back to work.

Now, as Rhodey sat in a booth in the back of the restaurant where the two friends usually took their meals, he watched the hands of his watch tick closer to the three-quarter hour.  Normally, he wouldn’t be worried.  After all, Tony Stark was notorious for cutting things a little close.  But, he was more on edge today than he’d felt in a while.  This was his first time seeing Tony since his supervising officer had given him his “special assignment.”   _ A spy mission by another name,  _ came the accusatory thought.  As the words sprang into his mind, unwarranted and definitely unwanted, Rhodey swallowed the lump forming in this throat.  He couldn’t think of it like that.  He had to view it as getting to the bottom of what happened to Tony’s parents, for Tony’s sake.  And, though only possibly, for the sake of Rhodey’s own guilt.

The bell on the restaurant's door chimed, signaling to its few patrons that another person had come to let in the cold.  The four other people sitting at various tables around the dining room folded more into themselves as the frigid air rushed in, their slow movements made even slower as they tried to keep warm.  After a moment, the door closed, and the air began to settle.  Rhodey pulled his jacket more tightly around his body regardless, acutely feeling the comfort it brought him.

He didn’t need to look up to know that it was Tony who’d walked in the door.  Even if he hadn’t been able to recognize his distinctive footfalls on the restaurant’s worn floor, he would’ve heard the familiar voice mutter “good, it’s warm in here,” before walking over to Rhodey’s booth. 

“What’s the occasion, Rhodey?” Tony asked as he sat down.  “Or did you just miss me?”  The man’s cheeky smile was a large indicator of how much confidence Tony felt like exhibiting today.

“I would like to keep my ability to put up with you,” Rhodey said, smiling back before taking a sip out of his water glass.  “Y’know, it’s a tolerance thing.  I have to keep maintaining mine to make sure I can still handle you.  Going too long without getting another dose, well, that’s a recipe for disaster.”

Tony laughed, flagging the waiter down to get him a glass of water before turning back to his friend.

“Seriously though,” he said, “what’s on your mind?  Your forehead’s so wrinkled I’d think you were twice your actual age.”

“Just some rough stuff going on at work,” Rhodey muttered, wishing he had food in front of him to keep his hands busy.

“Is that sergeant being a hardass on you again?” Tony asked casually, either strategically or unintentionally ignoring Rhodey’s nerves.

“Sort of,” Rhodey said.  A worse-trained man would begin fidgeting under the stress, wringing his hands or tapping his fingertips, but Rhodey wouldn’t allow himself to be anything less than perfectly disciplined.

“Y’know,” Tony said, “it’s like I keep telling you.  If you quit that cop job I could pay you double what those idiots do, and we’d respect you ten times more than they could-”

“No, Tony, it’s not that,” Rhodey said with a sigh.  He again swallowed the feelings of dread and guilt he was fighting to ignore and said, “it’s just… you gotta forgive me for bringing this up, but that case with your parents-”

The speed with which Tony’s stare hardened in Rhodey’s direction caught the cop off guard, and suddenly the words he’d intended to speak were lost.

“Well,” Tony prompted.  “What about the case with my parents?”

“It’s just…” Rhodey said, still trying to relocate his words.  He looked down for a brief moment before returning his eyes to Tony and saying, “doesn’t it strike you as a bit… odd?  The way the whole thing went down?”

“Rhodey...” Tony started, “I trust your judgement a heck of a lot.  If you think something suspicious is going on, or even moreso, if you  _ know _ something suspicious is going on, I want you to tell me.”

“No,” Rhodey said quickly, the word stinging like acid on his tongue.  It was a lie, which is the one thing he’d wanted to avoid doing.  Still, letting Tony know too much too soon was a mistake.  He’d have to scale back a bit to salvage the whole affair.  “I mean, I don’t have any definitive knowledge, per se.  I just have a weird feeling about this whole thing, and I was wondering if you’ve noticed anything strange on your end.”  He paused, feeling like he needed to apply a little extra pressure to really drive the point home.  “There’ve also been some odd whispers around the station.  Y’know, you don’t hear specifics necessarily, but higher-ups muttering things around this accident.  I think there’s more here than either of us know, and your finger is more on the pulse of this than mine ever could be.”

Tony sat back in his seat, letting out a long breath as he took Rhodey’s words in.  He’d been struggling for weeks to even accept that his parents were dead, waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming up their accident, fighting the urge to shout for his mother with refueled hope that she’d answer back.  Sometimes, when he walked past his father’s open office door, he still felt his heart rate pick up instinctively, wondering if he’d heard the familiar, authoritative voice ask him to come in with a tone that was anything but questioning.  For what felt like a new lifetime, Tony had been trying to bury his parents in his mind as well as the family had buried them in the ground.  Now, Rhodey had come to him with the best shovel imaginable to dig them up again.

Finally, after what felt like hours to Rhodey, Tony said, “I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if I uncover anything.  Thank you, Rhodey.  You don’t know what this means to me.”

They spent the rest of their meal making strained small talk, something they hadn’t done in years.  It put a pit in Rhodey’s stomach, but then again, what could they have possibly talked about after he dropped that big of a bombshell?  It was a necessary evil, he reasoned, and in the end, they’d both be better for it.

After lunch, the two began walking several blocks down the road in a shared direction.  It was habit that they’d continue their conversation (or in today’s case, strained silence) for the additional minutes it took for them to reach the right avenue where their paths split.  Rhodey would then head back to the station, and Tony would go home.  However, this day had another plan in mind.  During one of the large breaks in Tony and Rhodey’s niceties, Tony recognized a pair of men smoking outside an apartment building.  They were two low-level guys that provided protection for the family, brought into the fold weeks before his father’s death.  The chances of Tony and Rhodey being able to avoid them were slim, and the chances of them not recognizing Tony in the first place were slimmer.  In a last quick attempt to obscure his face, Tony turned up the collar of his jacket and turned his body away from the two men as he quickened his pace.  This, however, turned out to backfire.

“Tony?” Rhodey asked, and Tony couldn’t help but flinch at hearing his name when he was trying so hard to stay anonymous.  “What’s got you walking so fast?”

“Boss?” came a voice off to Tony’s right, and Tony swore under his breath.  Rhodey’s question had gotten both of the men’s attention.  They both put out their mostly finished cigarettes and approached him and Rhodey.  “What’re you doing so far from the house without protection?”

“Yeah,” said the other man, “and who is this guy?  He givin’ you trouble?”

“What do you need protection for, Tony?” Rhodey asked warily.  He eyed the two imposing men not with fear, but with a vigilance that only came from previous experience.  If he could go to work with the possibility of a mob shootout hanging over his head, he could handle two guys in the middle of the day on a well-trafficked road.  His mind was working up five different ways to get him and Tony out of this situation before the first man got a proper read on Rhodey.  It was at this point that, as Tony tried to answer Rhodey’s question, one man voiced his realization.

“Boss, this guy’s a copper!” he said, and tried to keep speaking as Tony cut in.

“I’m dealing with some personal business right now,” Tony replied quickly, “and it would do you and your friend a helluva lot of good if you kept to yourself.”  He stopped, trying to remember the man’s name to properly call him out, but this gave him an opportunity to speak again.

“No boss, I’m serious!” he said.  “This guy slammed me with a fine for causin’ a nuisance a few months back.  Whatever he told you, it’s just a lie to keep his cover-”

“That’s enough from you,” came a commanding voice from behind the crowd of four men.  Tony recognized the click of Pepper’s heels before he saw her out of the corner of his eye.  Despite having just arrived, as she looked from Tony and Rhodey to the family’s two most recent additions of brute force, her gaze was sharper and icier than the weather.  Everyone fell silent, the first man’s mouth still partially agape from being cut off mid sentence.

“Now,” Pepper said to the two men.  “I was sent out to find you two.  You’re both needed back at the house, and in an hour, each of you are going to meet with me separately to rectify your misunderstanding of what a five minute smoke break means.”  To underline her point further, she pulled one hand out of her jacket pocket and drew back the sleeve to show her wristwatch, tilting the face towards the two men.  At this point, they were shifting their weight back and forth between their feet, not making eye contact with Tony, Rhodey, or Pepper.  

“You both took your breaks at a quarter past two,” she said.  “Do either of you want to tell me what time it is?”

At first neither answered, but Pepper cleared her throat in a way that signaled that her question was compulsory.  Finally, one of the men muttered, “ten to three.”

“That’s right,” Pepper said, “and now that I know at least one of you can read a watch, you have no excuse about not knowing what time is.  And, I’m just  _ dying _ to hear your explanations as to why you had to take your smoke break blocks away from the house, when the air is just as effective at carrying away smoke there as it is here.”  She paused, her expression never straying from a small, warm smile and sharp eyes, a combination as disconcerting as it was paradoxical.  “They’ll be even more complications for you both to deal with if I manage to beat you back to the house, once I speak with Mr. Stark and his associate.”

The two men didn’t need to be told twice.  They practically ran down the sidewalk, not taking even a moment to look back on Tony or Rhodey.  Once Pepper was sure that they weren’t coming back, she turned to the other two men.  Tony looked at her with a mix of awe and approval, while Rhodey was still trying to piece together exactly what had happened in the last five minutes.

“Virginia Potts,” Pepper said, sticking her hand out for Rhodey to shake.  He took it, still looking perplexed.  “But everyone calls me Pepper.  I work for Mr. Stark’s company.”

“James Rhodes,” Rhodey said, confusion still evident on his face, “but my friends call me Rhodey.  I went to high school with Tony.”

“You’re Rhodey!” Pepper said with a more genuine looking smile.  Tony could only recognize the happiness in her tone as feigned because of his certainty that he’d never mentioned Rhodey to Pepper.  “Tony’s mentioned you a few times.  All good things, I promise.  It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Rhodey said, realizing he was still wearing his hat and scrambling to tip it out of respect to Pepper.  “He sure seems lucky to have you around.”

“Well, I try to tell him that,” Pepper said with a laugh.  “Now, don’t mind those men’s out of place reaction to you being a cop.  In all likelihood, they’ll be out of a job by tonight.”

“That’s really not necessary-” Rhodey started, but Pepper silenced him with a small shake of her head.

“It’s not for your sake,” she said.  “It’s for the company’s.  Some of these guys have it in their heads that the Stark brand is associated with illicit activities.  They can’t seem to fathom the idea that a company, in this day and age, can be as successful financially as we are without some under-the-table deals.  But, I know that Howard Stark would’ve been furious to hear someone tarnish his hard, honest work with that kind of talk, so we try to correct or get rid of those employees as soon as things like this come to our attention.”

“I see…” Rhodey said, somewhat taken aback with how Pepper had such a good answer for everything.  “Well, I’ll let you two get back to work.  If I don’t head back to the station soon, I’ll get in trouble with my own supervisor.”  He turned to Tony and shook his friend’s hand firmly.  “Good to see you again, Tony,” he said, and then tipped his hat again to Pepper.  “Nice meeting you, Ms. Potts.”  He then turned on a side road and started to walk in the direction of the police station.  Once Pepper was sure Rhodey was out of earshot, she turned her attention to Tony.

“I’ll be firing both of them, of course,” she said.  “This is me asking permission, but really, I’ve fired people for you before, so one more time won’t really make a difference.”

“That’s fine,” Tony said, still feeling a bit shocked at Pepper’s incredible finesse managing what he’d quickly assumed was an unwinnable situation.  Maybe he needed her more than he cared to admit.

“Good,” she said, with the first real smile he’d seen throughout this entire encounter.  “They’ll keep their mouths shut, if they know what’s good for them.  And, if they don’t, we have ways of dealing with that.”

Tony really didn’t need her to fill in the details for that one, and Pepper hadn’t planned on it anyway.

“Even so,” she continued.  “If you  _ have  _ to hang out with your cop buddy from high school, you should be much more discrete about it.  You two even being in the same room by choice is a giant liability.”

“Rhodey’s not a liability, he’s my friend,” Tony said defensively.

“He’s a cop in the eyes of the family before he’s your friend,” Pepper said pointedly, “and they’ll be even more suspicious of you than they already are if they find out that you’re willing to look past the divide between crime and the law to get lunches with him.”

“The family is suspicious of me?” Tony asked, and as he said the words he realized the ridiculousness of his surprise.  The family knew nothing about him or his priorities.  If something he’d invested his life in suddenly got new management, he’d be suspicious too.

“Scratch that,” he said quickly.  “Of course they are.  They’re more trustful of Obie than they’ll ever be of me.”

“Good, you’re catching on,” Pepper said.  She was about to say more when Tony cut her off suddenly.

“Except for you,” he said, the joy and smugness beginning to show on his face.  “You seem to like me a helluva lot more than you like Obie.  You’re in my corner.”

“I keep the family’s interests as the main concern in all my decisions-”

“Don’t give me a diplomatic answer,” Tony said.  “You trust me more than you trust Obie.  Why?  That doesn’t line up with all of your other rhetoric.”

Pepper pursed her lips and took a second to think.

“I knew your father,” she said, “and I trusted his judgement more than I ever trusted Obie’s.  He put you in charge, not Obie, and he must’ve done it for a reason.  I have faith in that.”

“But the family doesn’t,” Tony mused.  “They should, but there’s something holding them back.  I need to fix that.”  He took a long look at Pepper before sticking out his hand for her to shake.  She looked at it quizzically.

“What do you say to a truce?” he asked.  “I ordered all of my raw materials already, and I’m going to build my machine, but I also need to run this family, and for that, I need them to trust me.  You let me work on my project, and I’ll actually listen to you when you tell me how to best get the family to trust me.  As much as I haven’t wanted to admit it, you know the ropes ten times better than me.  It’s more than worth it to keep you in my corner.”

After a split second, Pepper grabbed Tony’s hand and shook it firmly.

“You have a deal, Mr. Stark,” she said, a hint of smugness showing in the confidence in her voice.  Something told her that this was going to be one powerful partnership.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Pepper told Tony was that he needed to strike a balance between the nights he worked on his machine in his room, and the nights he spent supervising in the speakeasy.  Spending every night in the speakeasy would make him look, to the family, like an irresponsible drunk, while spending every night in his room would imply disinterest in the family business that was keeping his hobbies financially afloat.  During the next two afternoons he sat in his room with Pepper, learning the names of even the meatheads with the lowest standing, and something worth saying to each of them should he have to start some kind of conversation.  Pepper, despite the younger Stark insisting over and over that he was a genius with an incredible memory, expected the process to take at least a week, and was shocked to find that at the end of the second day, he was rattling off people’s names and roles in the family like it was the stats from last night’s baseball game.

“David Copeland-”

“-has a son Aaron Copeland, and both of them help manage the shipyard where we get our deliveries.  He loves talking about the best places to eat on this side of the city.”

“Jake Mitchell-”

“-third or so in command of keeping our guys safe.  Not really the top guy but I wouldn’t cross him.  Is a softie about his dog.”

“Okay, that just leaves-”

“Sammy Tate, who you left for last thinking I’d forget him, but he joined up about four months ago and works as a low level bookie.  Thinks this job is temporary.  Wants to go to medical school.”

Pepper smiled despite herself, putting down her notepad after putting a checkmark next to the last family member or employee on her exhaustive list of people that Tony needed to know.  She was sitting at Tony’s personal desk in his room, schematics still littering its surface, as Tony sat across from her on his bed.

“I’m impressed, Mr. Stark,” she said.  “Amazing that you had this in you the whole time and never bothered to use it.”

“What, my genius or my charm?” Tony asked smugly, knowing exactly what Pepper was implying but not willing to let her have the last jab.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

He got up from where he was sitting and went to first grab a handful of schematics off of his desk, and then his coat, which was folded over the back of a chair in a different corner of the room, “-I have a shipment to pick up.”

“There’s nothing scheduled for today,” Pepper said, getting up out of her seat.

“Maybe not for the family,” Tony said, already halfway out the door, “but there is for me.”

He started to walk down the stairs, but Pepper followed him, catching him before he went out the door.

“Where is this shipment coming to?”

“I have a buddy with a storage unit he’s not using, so I told the manufacturers to drop it off there.  You didn’t honestly expect me to build something like this in my bedroom, did you?”

Pepper had to admit, she had been confused as to where her boss intended to build his ridiculous machine, but she couldn’t ask about that now.  There was a bigger problem on her hands.

“Mr. Stark,” she muttered.  “You need to tell me when you’re getting personal shipments.”

“Why?” Tony asked, not picking up on the cue that he should keep his voice down, “you manage the family’s books, not mine.”

Pepper grabbed his arm and yanked him outside so suddenly that Tony didn’t have time to react.  When she’d pulled him off to the side of the house, hopefully out of earshot of any nosy family members, she said in a low voice, “I might not manage your books, but I am currently managing your public image, and it looks suspicious when you get off-record personal shipments.  They may think you’re trying to skim a bit off the top of the family’s profits.”

“But Obie gave me the money to make these purchases.”

“And he can just as easily spin that against you.  If someone else notices a chunk of money disappearing, do you really think that Obie’s going to say he gave it to you so you could build a toy in a storage unit?”

For once, Tony realized that it wasn’t the time to correct Pepper on her usage of “toy,” and instead said, “Obie wouldn’t do that.”

“Are you willing to stake your reputation on it?”

That gave Tony pause, not caring to admit that he hadn’t realized this would be a problem.  He believed that Obie wouldn’t go behind his back like that, but Pepper seemed to think he would, and her instincts had been surprisingly correct so far.  All that would happen if she was wrong was a renewed faith in Obie, but if she was right...

“So,” he said after a moment, “I’m not just going to not pick up my shipment.  How do you suggest solving this?”

“With some careful manipulation of numbers and a little more discretion.  So, first, you’re going to take me with you to pick up your shipment.  It’ll look less like you’re sneaking around if I’m with you.”

Tony went to protest, to say that he didn’t need a babysitter, but realized it wasn’t worth it.

“Alright,” he said, “but I hope you can walk fast in those heels.”

The walk took ten minutes of frigid silence, though Tony attributed that more to the unforgiving January wind than any disdain between him and Pepper.  Hands shoved in his pockets, eyes squinting against the cold, he was amazed to see that not only was Pepper keeping up, but she seemed to have more command over the elements than he did.  Even, he noticed with hidden amazement, when the sidewalk began to ice as the sun set.

When they got to a paved lot housing at least a hundred storage units, Tony took a piece of paper out of his pocket and muttered “73” to himself, looking up and down the rows of green, identical looking garage doors.  When the two of them navigated their way to unit 73 (with some nudging from Pepper, though she pretended she wasn’t) Tony raised the door and found some shelter inside the empty unit, which, at the very least, blocked out the wind.

“Alright, we’re here,” he said unceremoniously, which Pepper noted as out of character.  “So, how are you suggesting to manipulate enough numbers to keep my purchases a secret.”

“You helped manage your father’s books as well,” Pepper said, and Tony went to correct her on how he was the primary on that, not her, but stopped himself.  “What do you think?”

“You hide the big purchase in other little purchases.”

“But see, people are looking for that,” Pepper said.  “Small purchases become moderately expensive purchases, and people get suspicious.  Suddenly they’re wondering why we need five hundred guns instead of the usual shipment of two-fifty.  The best way to hide a big purchase is in plain sight.”

“And how do you do that?” Tony asked, his skepticism somewhat giving way to genuine curiosity.  If Pepper really was the best, he might as well learn a thing or two.

“Put them down as donations,” Pepper said.  “Spread them out among a few charities and make and add some additional money in there as actual charity to get the recognition as a donor.  The Starks regularly make payments to several charities in the area anyway.  You know how your father loved to help the community.”

Her smile was so self-satisfied and sharp that Tony couldn’t help but love it.

“You’re onto something,” he said, and he was about to say more when they heard a truck pull into the lot.  “That’s my shipment!” he said, and Pepper could’ve sworn she hadn’t seen him happier in the few weeks she’d known him.  He went outside to meet the truck, and within the hour all of the electronics, steel, and miscellaneous materials had been loaded off of the truck and into the storage unit.  Tony paid the driver and tipped his men, and soon Pepper and Tony were left on their own again, with nothing but a full storage unit in a discrete part of town to speak for what had actually been delivered.

***

Rhodey could only take so much (totally not) spy work before he began to get emotionally exhausted.  Lying to his best friend was one thing, sneaking behind his back was another, and the combination of the two was becoming too much for him to maintain day in and day out.  He knew he couldn’t directly ask his sergeant for another assignment, even if it was just for a little while, but if there was another way to get a bit of a break, he was going to find it.

When his supervising sergeant returned from his lunch break, Rhodey had the intention of trying to talk to him.  It felt like a fruitless endeavour, but he had to _try._  However, he didn’t get the chance.  As soon as he walked in the door, he gestured for two detectives, Rivers and Parker, to join him at the front of the bullpen.  Rhodey recognized them as partners.  He didn’t have a chance to start theorizing as to why the sergeant needed them, when the man himself called for silence.

“Attention, men,” he said.  Pens stopped scratching on paper, chatter ceased, and the room fell quiet.  “Thanks to these two detectives, we’ve identified the source of the weapons used in last week’s fatal mob shootout.  These families got their weapons from a smuggler coming from the Caribbean, but it looks like they purchased the guns themselves here in New York.  This is the third incident of smuggled weaponry creating bloody scenes on our streets this month alone.  Tell them what that means, Rivers.”

“It means we’ve got a ring of illegal smuggling and weapons trading here in Manhattan,” Rivers said.  “And their sales are escalating.”

“Someone is supplying rival mob families with enough guns to blow each other’s brains out,” the sergeant continued.  “We need to determine who’s selling these weapons and what shipyard they’re coming in from.  This is priority number one.  Get me probable cause to search every corner of this city.  Get me enough evidence against whoever this is for all the warrants I’m gonna need.  You see something, you tell me, Parker, or Rivers.”  He paused for a minute, surveying his bullpen, before saying, “don’t fuck this up.  Now get back to work.”

There was an additional second of silence as everyone in the bullpen processed what their sergeant had just told them, and then a buzz of chatter overtook them.  Detectives telling each other potential intel and confidential informants.  Beat cops swapping knowledge of shady situations they saw on their routes.  As Rhodey sat there, watching them, it took him a moment to realize that no one had even bothered to approach his desk besides his partner, Charlie Franklin.  Franklin was nice enough, but he was fresh out of the academy and too eager for Rhodey’s tastes.  He knew that he got stuck with Franklin because no one else wanted to partner with someone learning on the job.  

Franklin put his hand on Rhodey’s desk and leaned in a bit.

“You remember anything suspicious that we could tell the serg?” he asked.  “You know the guy that gives them their big clue is gonna be a hero.”

“Nothing I can remember,” Rhodey said, his eyes travelling past Franklin to the sergeant's desk, where he was sitting talking to Rivers and Parker.  After another minute he said, “but we’re not detectives.”

“No, but we could still find _something_ useful, I bet, if we keep an eye out.”

But Rhodey wanted to do more than keep an eye out.  He knew he was a damn good cop, and he’d make an even better detective, if they’d consider him.  Even more so, the indignation at being given no assignments other than spying on his best friend burned his insides like acid.  “Priority number one” sounded like an assignment if he’d ever heard of one, and he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip by.  He was going to find the evidence that brought down those smugglers, no matter what it took.

***

As much as Tony wanted to spend every moment of his day in his storage unit tinkering away at his newest fascination, Pepper kept him on a strict schedule.  At least three nights a week at the speakeasy (and no more than five), lunch with the family at least twice a week, and he had to have a decent-length conversation with a new person every few days.  Tony found the effort of getting into everyone’s good graces very taxing, but every time he went to complain, Pepper reminded him that it was this, or risk losing his secret project altogether.  An alarm system wasn’t going to do him any good without a speakeasy to arm, not to mention the fear of being completely ousted, which would leave him poor, and worse, homeless.

However, as January turned into February, Tony started to see it working.  Men who previously wouldn’t give him the time of day started asking about his personal life with genuine interest.  The wives of the men that kept him protected started slipping him treats when they made their husbands lunch.  Even some of the kids, who he never seemed to get along with, started to think he was the coolest guy around, squealing when he came to visit and begging for bits of his attention.

This new approval did not go unnoticed by Obie, who congratulated Tony on it one morning over breakfast.

“Everyone really seems to be taking to you,” he said, without any prompting.  Tony looked up from the newspaper he was reading to see Obie smiling at him and nodding slightly.  “You’re really coming into your own.”

There was an edge in his voice that Tony couldn’t quite place, but he decided to play along, figuring that this conversation would be a key insight into what Pepper had told him over a month before.

“Thanks,” Tony said, putting on an expression of self-satisfaction.  “I guess I am doing pretty well.”

“A real bang-up job,” Obie agreed.  “Y’know, Mrs. Copeland even told me the other day that she wants to hang around Aaron more.  Thinks you’ll be a good influence on his future.”

“Well, I’m touched,” Tony said.  “I guess I just have a way with people.”

“Always have,” Obie said.  Tony could feel the tension in the room rising as their tones got more friendly.  He felt like he was at a standoff, though he couldn’t quite place what had put them at odds in the first place.  “Your father was the same way.  He could talk his way in or out of just about anything.”

He got up from where he was sitting and went to grab his jacket off of the coat tree on the other side of the room, passing Tony as he went and giving the younger Stark’s shoulder a sharp pat as he did.  It was supposed to be affectionate, but it stung.

“I have a meeting I need to get to,” he said.  He faced the window as he put on his coat, not looking back to direct his words at Tony, though he was still speaking to him.  Then, after a moment, he shook his head and clicked his tongue at the winter scene in front of him.  “Dads going to work,” he muttered, though it was loud enough for Tony to hear.  “Kids walking to school.  Wives going shopping or to the factories.  And none of them have a damn clue how the world works.”  He finally turned back to Tony, now talking at a normal volume.  “Men like us, we run the world, Tony.  Everyone else is just a player in what we create.  Don’t you forget that.”

And without another word, he went out into the door and into the world he’d claimed as his domain.

***

The house was an unassuming structure built decades ago on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.  It had a small front porch, unpolished brass knocker, and peeling paint.  If you walked inside, you would see a kitchen half-stocked with groceries, and two children reading books on the carpet in the living room.  But downstairs, the air of the basement was full of cigarette smoke.  When Obie walked down those stairs, two men patted him down, then double checked their work, before letting him past.

He sat down at a table across from the source of the smoke, a man wearing several thick rings and a tie that had a little bit of ash on it.  He noticed it and wiped it away before addressing Obie.

“What brings you here, Mr. Stane?” he asked.  His accent was as thick as the smoke swirling around his head.

“To my knowledge, Mr. Vanko,” Obie said, “we have a partnership.  I sell you weapons, and you stay out of my hair-”

“There’s not much hair to be had,” he said with a laugh.  Obie kept his face neutral.

“Regardless,” Obie continued, “that’s the deal our two families have operated under for years, and, if it’s not too presumptuous of me to say, I think we both like it that way.”

Mr. Vanko took a pause before nodding slightly.

“Good,” Obie said.  “Then you’ll be just as discouraged as I am to know that there’s something in the works to undermine our partnership.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Vanko asked, looking unfazed.

“The younger Stark, Tony, is more concerned with his popularity and the women he entertains than anything relating to business.  He could ruin everything.”

“I’m surprised,” Mr. Vanko said.  “I assumed you had more loyalty than this, Mr. Stane.”

“I do,” Obie said.  “Loyalty to you, to my family, to our contracts, and to our product.  Tony is an outsider.  He’s nothing like his father, and he’s a liability the size of which could risk everything we’ve built together.   _That_ is something I would hate to lose.”

Mr. Vanko took another drag on his cigarette, then blew out the smoke slowly as he considered what Obie said.  But, Obie felt in his gut that the man across from him was unconvinced.

“If you need more proof, look no further than the company he surrounds himself with,” Obie said.  “His best friend is a cop.  He thinks I don’t know, but I see the guy dropping notes off at the house like they’re trying to be clever.  That man finds out what Tony’s real profession is, where he gets all of his money from, and we’re all going to prison.  We have to get him out of the picture.”

“What do you want from me?” Mr. Vanko asked.

“I’m too close to this,” Obie said.  “They’d tie it to me, but you, there’s no way they could pin this on someone so removed.”

“Pin what?”

A moment of mutual understanding passed between the two men.

“A hit?” Mr. Vanko asked.  “You want to put a hit out on Tony Stark?”

“Can you do it?”

“It’s not a question of if I can,” Mr. Vanko said, “it’s how.  Come back tomorrow, after I come up with a plan, and then we’ll discuss compensation.”

***

“Mr. Stark, this is ridiculous.”

Pepper was less concerned with the February chill nipping at the backs of her ankles, and more concerned with the fact that Tony wouldn’t let her open her eyes.  He’d brought her back to the storage unit she’d seen a month ago, but he claimed he needed to set a few things up before she was allowed to see why.  She could hear rummaging, and the occasional “dammit” from Tony as he pieced something together, and then, through the quiet night, she could hear something hum to life.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

In front of her was a mess of multi-colored wires, all connecting to various batteries that supplied amounts of power that Pepper couldn’t even imagine.  There must’ve been ten different cables and coils travelling back and forth the length of the storage unit, but strangest of all, she was staring into something that she knew to be glass, but felt strangely like an eye.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to it.  A small red dot of light shone in its corner.

“A lens,” Tony said.  “Like on a camera.  Here, test it out.”

“Test what out?”

“The alarm.  Step inside.”

Hesitantly, Pepper took a step inside the storage unit.

“Pepper… Potts…”

The mechanical voice made Pepper jump, and she felt like the sound was surrounding her.  A shiver went through her body that she knew was not the fault of the night air.

“...approved… visitor.”

It took Pepper another moment to realize that it was the machine that was speaking.

“How does it know who I am?” she asked breathlessly.  “And how can it talk?”

“I programmed you into the system,” Tony said.  “You were the first one, well, first one that wasn’t me.  I needed to test it somehow.”  He smiled at her, and Pepper, looking incredulous, smiled back at him.

“As for how it talks, well, remind me to tell you how that works when it doesn’t feel like my toes are gonna freeze off.”

“This is incredible,” Pepper said with a laugh.  She shook her head, like she was still having trouble believing it.  “You did it.  You actually built it.”

“I told you,” Tony said, his face alight with something beyond satisfaction.  Something like joy.  “I’m a genius.”

“What is it?” Pepper asked.  “I mean, what’s it called?”

“Let it tell you,” Tony said, gesturing to the machine.  “Hey, buddy, what’s your name?”

“I… am… JARVIS.”


	5. Chapter 5

Pepper soon learned that just because JARVIS worked, didn’t mean he was done.  That was the second thing Tony corrected her on, the first being that JARVIS was a he, not an it.  On the walk back from the storage unit, she learned that JARVIS was named after the Stark family’s late butler, Edwin Jarvis, who’d taken care of Tony in his younger years.  The gesture spoke of a sentimentality she hadn’t expected from the younger Stark.  It didn’t take any more details for her to realize that this project wasn’t just a hobby of Tony’s anymore.  Instead, it was quickly becoming his entire world.  As the two walked, Tony was speaking at a rapid fire pace, ready to say anything and everything about JARVIS now that Pepper had finally seen him.

“...I want him to get to a point where he can learn.  Can you imagine that?  Like sure, he’s going to have a database of faces he can recognize, that’s a given, but what if he could do things beyond a glorified security guard?  What if he could lock the place up or put in orders for more supplies or even take on some kind of  _ managing _ role…”

He stopped when Pepper nudged him, gesturing silently to the familiar house not too far down the street.  Tony nodded.  They were in total agreement that JARVIS needed to be kept a secret until he was fully ready.  By now the night was stretching into early morning, and the silence of the empty streets filled the space where Tony’s words were moments before.  He started to walk up the front steps, but paused when he saw that Pepper wasn’t following him.

“Don’t you want to go to sleep?” he asked.  “The night’s already practically over.”

Pepper looked at him for a moment with confusion before she registered what Tony was implying.

“Mr. Stark,” she said, “I don’t live here.”

“You don’t?” Tony asked, his voice showing that he didn’t quite believe it.  “But you’re always here before I wake up and way after I go to bed.  I just assumed.”

Pepper shook her head disbelievingly, but she was clearly amused.

“Do you live alone?” he asked.  “Or is there some secret husband I don’t know about either?”

“Is that really an appropriate question?” Pepper asked.

“Since when have I been concerned with that?” Tony asked.  “But, if you don’t want to answer, I’m not going to force you.  It looks like there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

Pepper chuckled.  “I don’t have a secret husband,” she said.  “I’m very happy living alone, especially with how hard it was to convince my landlord to rent to a single woman.”

“Well, you’re not the kind of person to take no for an answer.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve figured that out,” Pepper said.  She watched as Tony walked back down the two stairs he’d already climbed, hands in his pockets, leaning some of his weight on the railing.

“Well, if I can figure out how to make machines talk, I can probably figure out how to read people,” he said with an exaggerated shrug.  “Do you really walk home alone at this time of night?  Often?  Doesn’t it make you nervous?”

“They’re the ones that should be nervous,” she said, patting the inside pocket of her jacket.  Tony frequently forgot that she carried a gun.  He stood there, looking at her for a moment, the dim streetlights making her strawberry blonde hair look gold and the cold turning her cheeks red.  JARVIS had been ready for a few days now, but he hadn’t felt like the project was really making strides towards success until he saw Pepper’s gleefully shocked face hours before.

It only took him a moment to realize he was staring.  He cleared his throat and said, “you got that right.  Well, feel free to wander around outside all you want, but I’m going to bed.”

He turned and walked back up the stairs and through the front door, grateful to get out of the cold.  Gloves, jacket, and boots came off, and when he turned back to look and see if Pepper was still standing outside, he was met with the blackness of night obscuring an empty street.

***

Rhodey had spent any spare time he had the last few days looking into the smuggling case, which wasn’t easy, because spare time was definitely something he was short on.  He worked an eight hour shift doing his route with Charlie, then stayed another few in the station before his sergeant continually reminded him that he wasn’t going to get any overtime if he worked more than twelve hours.  Files and documents couldn’t leave the station for the sheer liability that situation posed, so Rhodey would have to memorize anything he found useful, or scribble it on a piece of paper in some kind of shorthand only he could read, and take it home.  He hated bringing the case home with him, especially when he’d previously established a distinct separation between his work and home lives for the sake of his sanity, but he told himself that this would be worth it in the end.  If he played his cards right, this could be the bump he needed to make detective.

Whoever these smugglers were, they were very thorough, though Rhodey supposed they had to be to make up for their lack of loyalty.  It looked like the same stashes of weapons were being sold to any mob family willing to pay for them, and yet, he couldn’t find anything tangible enough to establish probable cause for a search or arrest.

“What kind of people don’t have the decency to leave a paper trail?” he muttered to himself, shuffling through a stack of notes written on break room napkins or scraps of paper.  It was a week after the smuggling case had been put on his precinct's radar, and Rhodey felt like he hadn’t slept since.  He was sitting at his kitchen table, trying to reorganize both his thoughts and his clues in the hopes of discovering something new from the same old material, but without things like shipping logs and record books, it was hard to see anything out of place.  If only he could get a copy of something like that.

A thought flashed across Rhodey’s mind.  There  _ was  _ an entity in the city that had copies of shipping logs.  Maybe they couldn’t get the shipyards themselves to voluntarily hand over their logs, but he knew people who’d be much more inclined to let the police look at a copy.

The next morning, he walked into the precinct, and with a confidence that was only partially feigned, he went straight to his sergeant's desk.

“What do you want, Rhodes?” he asked, not looking up from the paperwork he was reviewing.

“Sir, I was thinking more about the smuggling case-”

“That’s not your case, Rhodes.”

“You said that anyone who had information that could help crack the case open should come forward.”  The sergeant looked up from what he was signing.  “...sir,” Rhodey amended.

“Well, spit it out,” the sergeant said.

“The permit office keeps partial records of shipping logs of every shipyard in town,” Rhodey said.  “It’s standard practice that shipyards, every so often, give them updated information about the business they’re conducting to renew their permits.  Maybe the shipyards and the companies they work with won’t turn over their logs, but the permit office is a government entity.  They’d be much more willing to cooperate with the police without requesting a warrant first.”

The sergeant considered this new information for a moment before calling, “Rivers! Parker! You’re going to the office downtown that issues shipping permits.”  He paused for a moment, looking back at Rhodey, before saying, “Rhodes is going with you.  He can fill you both in once you’re there.”

It took all of Rhodey’s self control to keep himself from breaking out into a victorious smile.  Instead he said, “thank you, sir,” and went to grab his keys.

***

Tony slept through breakfast the next morning, and was well on his way to making it through lunch when a sharp knock on his door stirred him awake.  He groaned as he rolled over onto his back and made an attempt to open his eyes.  The afternoon sunlight was reflecting brightly off of the snow that piled up on the sidewalk.  He squinted before calling, “come in,” and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

He looked hungover, he knew that, and in a sense he was.  The cause, however, wasn’t alcohol, but rather work.  He’d spent night after night in his secret storage unit working on JARVIS, forgoing hours of sleep in the name of progress, and now that JARVIS had passed his first successful test, it was a moment worthy of celebrating.  For Tony, that meant hours on end of well deserved recovery sleep.

Apparently, Obie had a different idea.  At the sound of Tony’s voice he came into the room, full of energy, and sat himself down at Tony’s desk.  At this point, all of JARVIS’ plans and schematics had been moved to the storage unit, but Tony’s heart rate still picked up a bit whenever someone made themselves comfortable in his room.

“Are you planning on spending the whole day asleep?” Obie asked.  His tone was teasing, but Tony was getting to the point where anything Obie said wasn’t sitting right.

“We don’t have a shipment coming in today,” Tony muttered, still groggy, “so why does it matter?”

“It matters because you’re finally a popular guy around here,” Obie said.  “People notice when you’re not around, ask about you-”

“So you can tell them I’m getting some well-deserved sleep.”

“I’d hate to worry them.”

“Hell, Obie, one day in my room doesn’t mean I’ve gone missing.”

“They’re just all concerned about your health-”

“My health is fine.”

“And you’re barely around...”

“I’m  _ working. _  Isn’t that what they want?”

A moment of tense silence filled the room, though Tony was too tired to care.  Obie decided it was in his best interest to break it.

“Y’know, we never really celebrated your new status,” he said.

“New status?” Tony asked.

“As head of the family.”

“Probably has to do with the fact that I’m only in charge because my parents died in a car crash,” Tony said, his sarcasm pierced with bitterness.  “Hardly something worth celebrating.”

Obie shrugged, and though Tony had a feeling the gesture was intended to be an agreement, it nonetheless felt disrespectful.

“What happened to your parents was truly terrible,” Obie said, “but there’s no sense in dwelling on it forever.  They’d want us to move on.  You know that as well as I do.”

Tony didn’t say anything, instead tracing the stitching on his bedspread with his forefinger.

“People are still torn up about your parents’ death.  You’re absolutely right about that,” Obie continued.  “But, I think a good way to help everyone to start moving on is to celebrate you.  Celebrate the future.  That’s all we can affect, after all.”

Tony still kept silent.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m denying your pain, Tony.  I miss them too, but you have to let yourself start to cope-”

“I’ll deal with that on my own time, thanks,” Tony said, eyes still focused on the bedspread in front of him.

Obie sighed.  “Let me throw you a party,” he said.  “A celebration of everything you’re going to achieve.  We’ll have it tomorrow night, in the speakeasy.  I’ll take care of everything.  You just have to show up.  How’s that sound?”

Silence.

Obie got up from Tony’s desk and walked over to Tony’s bed, sitting on the end of it.  He put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, finally getting Tony to look up at him.  “How’s that project of yours coming?” he asked.  Tony tried and failed to hide his shock.  “What, you thought I forgot?” Obie asked.  “How could I forget about you?  What was it, an alarm system?”

Tony hadn’t remembered ever telling Obie what he was building.

“Why don’t you use the party as an opportunity to test it out?  Unless, of course, it’s not ready-”

“It’s ready enough,” Tony said quickly.  Obie was playing to his ego, and in a way he sensed that, but Tony felt like he could still play along and come out on top.  JARVIS was hardly ready for a full test run, but Tony could get him there.  It would be a wonderful challenge.

“Good,” Obie said with a smile.  “Tomorrow night, then.  Ten o’clock.  Though, I suppose the guest of honor gets to be fashionably late.  Just don’t push it.”

He patted Tony’s shoulder before getting up from the bed.  He rapped his knuckles on Tony’s desk as he walked by, something that made Tony feel strangely angry, then left the room and shut the door without another word.

***

Once the three officers were at the permit office, and Rhodey explained his theory to Parker and Rivers, it didn’t take long before they were having a three-on-one conversation with a clerk who was way out of his depth.  Rhodey prided himself on not using his position as a cop to push people around, but it seemed like just the sight of the three officers was enough to jostle this clerk.  It only took Parker mentioning the potential of evidence linked to an illegal smuggling operation for the clerk to jump up from his seat and go, “well, wouldn’t want to withhold evidence,” and give the three men a nervous laugh.

“You know,” Rhodey started, “you don’t have to-”

Rivers elbowed him.

“Don’t jeopardize the case, Rhodes,” he muttered.  “If this guy wants to be cooperative, who are we to stop him?”

The clerk led the three of them to a back room full of file cabinets.

“This is where we sort and keep the logs we get from each yard and company,” the clerk said.  His nerves seemed to have calmed somewhat now that he was talking about a topic he was knowledgeable about.  “The cabinets are sectioned off by each Manhattan district and within those cabinets everything is again sectioned off by shipyard.  Logs are in reverse chronological order, so the recent stuff is first.”

Rhodey continued to look around.  The filing room seemed massive, though that was probably due to the size and number of each of these file cabinets.  He knew Manhattan was a busy place, but how could it have this many shipments coming in and out?  Cabinets stretched towards the ceiling and were squished right up against each other, lining the walls to the back of the room.  In the middle of all of them was a table, presumably for laying out and inspecting specific shipping logs.  Rhodey, Rivers, and Parker looked at each other, each thinking the same thing.  This was going to take a really long time.

They split the work up based on how the room was laid out, each man taking a wall of filing cabinets and combing through district after district, checking first only the recent shipping logs, and then reluctantly going back each year within the last five.  Rhodey knew the process was going to take hours, but in the windowless filing room the only way he could keep track of how late in the day it was getting was by the hands of his watch.  He felt like he was in a kind of purgatory, surrounded by only his fellow officers and stacks of files that seemed to stretch on forever.  He wasn’t sure he believed how many hours had passed when suddenly, Rivers called out to them.

“Hey, take a look at this, will you?” he asked.  He was hold a file open in one hand, with his finger keeping track of a specific entry in the log he’d been reading.  Parker and Rhodey walked over to him, peering over his shoulder, and at first neither of them could figure out what the issue was.  When Rivers noticed their silence, he tilted the folder a little bit more towards them so they could better read the numbers.

“This entry’s from a few months ago,” he said.  “November or so.  Look, it says they got a shipment of some steel building supplies and some other manufacturing parts.”

“What’s so weird about that?” Parker asked.

“Well, a few files ago, I got the idea to start checking the pricing for the shipments against each other.  Y’know, rival companies will often try to force down prices for competition’s sake.  I don’t know what half this stuff goes for, but I figured that if everything was in the same ballpark there wasn’t really anything to worry about.  But look.”

He walked over to the table and picked up two other folders, opening them to pages he’d dog eared about an hour ago.

“Here’s two other steel shipments.  See how they’re priced?  This one’s three times as much.  Which might not be  _ so _ weird, if I hadn’t recognized the company name.  See,” he pointed to an entry in one of the other folders he was holding.  “It’s the same guys, within the same year.  There’s no way they tripled their prices in only a few months.  I think this entry’s a cover for something else.”

“Which yard is this?” Rhodey asked.

“The docks over near the north side of the island.  Here, I’ve already pulled more files from the same place so you guys can check for more inconsistencies.  It’ll be faster now that we might’ve found where to look.”

He handed Rhodey and Parker each a small stack of files, and within a few minutes the three of them had folders spread out over every available surface.  The table, the floor, and the tops of cabinets were covered in sorted piles of papers and folders.  Rhodey took out a notebook from his pocket and began writing down any suspicious pricings he saw in his portion of the logs, and within the hour the three of them had a small list, spread out over the last year and a half, of strangely priced deliveries coming into this specific shipping yard.  They’d picked up in frequency over the last six months, and while the logs from the last month were too recent to be brought into the permit office, Rhodey, Parker, and Rivers had a sneaking suspicion that if they got a warrant to search the place, they’d find the same discrepancies.  After all, this was certainly enough evidence to for a judge to issue them one.

“Who’s signing off on these shipments, anyway?” Parker asked.  “I don’t see a name anywhere.”

“It says the guy who owns this yard is named Copeland,” Rivers said, thumbing through his own file, “but he really doesn’t like to keep customer logs.  There’s gotta be someone’s name in here somewhere.”

The three officers began to search around the file cabinet, through all of the files they pulled, trying to get some kind of customer information about the Copeland docks.  Finally, going back over the files again, searching with a scrutiny that in itself was suspicious for such well-kept documents, Rhodey saw a name.  The handwriting was messy, almost as if the signer wanted to keep his signature illegible, but he could just make out what the curves of the letters were saying after staring for a moment.  When he realized what he read, he felt like his heart briefly stopped beating.  This couldn’t be right.

“Rivers, Parker, can you come over here?” he asked, still staring at the name.  The cursive letters were making an imprint on the back of his eyes.  The two officers walked over to where he was sitting on the floor, crouched down and looked over his shoulder.

“Can you make out that name?” he asked.

When he heard them say it, he knew he wasn’t imagining things.

There in front of him, now looking plain as day, was Obadiah Stane’s signature.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony was used to being disturbed when he was working in his bedroom, but hearing a knock on the garage door of his private storage unit was another thing entirely.  While he didn’t know what time it was for certain, he assumed that by now it was the early hours of the morning, though it wasn’t like he cared.  JARVIS had to be ready for the rapidly approaching party.  There was no way he was going to let Obie embarrass him at an event made to honor him.

When he heard the knock, he felt a brief flash of panic before remembering that he’d brought Pepper here twice before.  There was no way that could be anyone but her, at least he hoped.

“Pepper…?” he called hesitantly.

“It’s freezing out here!” came the reply.  The tone was sharp and distinctly Pepper’s.  Tony let out the tense breath he’d been holding.  “Will you open this door?”

Tony walked over and pulled up the door to see Pepper, tightly wrapped up in a jacket, shivering in front of him.  She quickly entered and he pulled the door down again.  When he looked back at her, she was staring with wonder at JARVIS.  Somehow, despite seeing him in action, it was still difficult for her to believe that such a thing could exist.

“Seems like you’re really starting to like him,” Tony said.  He walked over to stand slightly behind Pepper, putting a hand on her shoulder and only consciously registering the action after it had already happened.  He felt her jump slightly in surprise, turning to look at him.  They made eye contact for what felt like a second too long before he quickly removed his hand.

Pepper cleared her throat, as if to gather her thoughts.

“What is this I’m hearing about Obie throwing you a party?” she asked, her words pointed but her voice slightly shaken.

“It’s not a big deal, Pepper,” Tony said, going back to work on JARVIS on instinct, like he needed to keep his hands occupied or he’d lose his mind.  “He just wants to celebrate my new ‘status,’ as he put it.  And help me test out JARVIS.”

“Do you not see how suspicious that is?” Pepper asked.  “How does he even know about JARVIS?”

“He gave me the money to build him,” Tony said, not looking up from what he’d started doing.

“But how would he know that he’s ready to be tested?  Or how does he even know what JARVIS does?”

“Did you really come all the way out here just to tell me off?”

“Tony!”

This caused Tony to look up from his work and stare at Pepper, the second of silence passing between them suddenly heavy.  He didn’t remember if she’d ever called him by his first name before.

“Mr. Stark,” she corrected quickly.  “I don’t think going to this party is a good idea.”

“How would it look if I didn’t go?” he asked.  “I would look rude, ungrateful, arrogant.  He’s got me in a corner, Pepper.  I have to go.  The best thing I can do now is make sure JARVIS works well enough to keep me safe.”

“Keep you safe?” Pepper asked.

“I’m making some modifications to him right now,” Tony said.  “Trying to teach him to recognize large groups of people instead of just specific permitted guests.  Characteristics of police uniforms, guns usually used by rival families, and here,” he took a small object off of one of his work tables and showed it to Pepper.  It fit in the palm of his hand, and was semi-transparent.  Inside, she could see tiny wires of a variety of colors criss-crossing each other.

“This is an earpiece,” he explained.  “It’ll connect me to JARVIS as he’s letting people into the speakeasy.  The second something weird happens, he’ll alert me.  Obie won’t know a thing.”

Pepper looked at the earpiece, then back at Tony, before sighing nervously.

“Alright,” she said.  “If you really think JARVIS is ready, and you really think this is the choice you need to make, I’ll be there with you.  You’re going to need someone to watch your back.”

Tony smiled at her.  “There’s no one I’d trust to do that more than you.”

***

The only thing Rhodey wanted to do was get in contact with Tony, but that was the one thing he knew of that was out of the question.  So many thoughts buzzed around in his mind.  Did Tony know what Obie was doing?  Was Tony in on it, financially or otherwise?  Was the entire Stark company just a front for illegal smuggling?  Suddenly, the idea of the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark being a hit didn’t seem so unlikely.

Rhodey, Rivers, and Parker brought the shipping logs back to their precinct as evidence to both show the sergeant and convince a judge to grant them a warrant to search the Copeland docks and retrieve the rest of the logs.  As soon as the sergeant reviewed the evidence the officers brought back, he sent another officer to hurry over to the judge’s office and apply for a warrant.

“Good work, boys,” he said, his smile wide as he looked at the three officers.  “With any luck, we’ll get that warrant before the Copelands and this Obadiah Stane know we’re onto them, and then all of you will have helped us make the arrest of a lifetime.”

The sergeant then clapped Rhodey on the back and said, “you did a damn good job, Rhodes.  Didn’t know you had this in you.  You keep this up, and I can see you making detective in no time at all.”

He then walked away, joining the groups of officers scattered around the precinct who were all excitedly discussing this major break in the case.  Rhodey knew he should be celebrating his victory, but his insides felt hollow.  How the hell was Tony going to take this?  Assuming he wasn’t involved, he’d just lost his parents.  How was he going to handle also losing the man that was like his second father?

The warrant was signed and carried out late into the night, after Rhodey had already gone home.  A team of detectives on the night shift went to search the docks, confiscated the shipping and client logs, and brought Aaron Copeland into the station for questioning, and eventually, holding.  While they weren’t sure what they planned to charge him with, they knew how things worked in these circles.  If he left that station, he was going to go back to his boss and talk, and by the time the police arrived all evidence would be destroyed.

Officers were still combing through the full set of the Copeland logs when Rhodey came back the next morning, taking note of any suspiciously priced purchases or other strange activity.  He could see Aaron Copeland sitting disgruntledly in a holding cell, shaking his leg in such a way that Rhodey couldn’t tell if he was nervous or just bored.  Despite his outward demeanor, he had an air of confidence about him, like he knew that none of the charges were going to stick.  This only made Rhodey more determined to make sure they did.

“Has anyone questioned him?” Rhodey asked, gestured to Copeland.  His question was directed at a few officers milling around the bullpen, sipping their morning coffee.

“He immediately asked for a lawyer,” one of the officers said, his contempt at the concept evident.  “Hasn’t said a word since.  Anytime someone goes up to him he just repeats ‘lawyer’ in their face, like we’ve forgotten.  What a prick.”

“Let him dig his own grave,” the other officer said.  “He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t get a deal, and even if he does walk we’re going to arrest all the sons-a-bitches that sign his paycheck.  He’ll have nothing left.”

“Has there been an arrest warrant issued for Obadiah Stane?” Rhodey asked.

“How should I know?” the first officer said.  “Why don’t you ask the serg?”

Though talking to the sergeant was still not something Rhodey enjoyed, it was the quickest way to get a direct answer.  Standing up a little straighter, he walked over to the man’s desk and asked, “has there been a warrant issued for Obadiah Stane’s arrest?”

“It’s pending while the judge reviews it,” the sergeant replied.  “Why, do you have an opinion, Rhodes?”

“It’s just, I was thinking,” Rhodey started.  “Sir, we only have one shot at this arrest.  While we could pull out all the stops on him, if we show up to arrest Stane and he’s not around, he’ll go into hiding.  We’re already holding one of his guys, and sooner or later one of Copeland’s buddies is going to notice the police presence around the docks-”

“So then what are you suggesting, Rhodes?”

“While the warrant is being reviewed, we need to get as much information as possible about any location Stane could be at, and then we hit all of them at the same time.  Smaller teams, less likely to cause a scene.  And, we get Copeland his lawyer ASAP.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s the only way he’ll talk,” Rhodey insisted.  “We don’t have a prayer of getting through to him unless he’s got that stuffed shirt by his side.  He wants a lawyer?  Fine, give it to him.  Copeland might not be able to admit to any involvement, but if we play our cards right we could flip him just enough to give us Stane’s location.”

“And what if that lawyer doesn’t let us hold him a second longer than we already have?” the sergeant asked.

Rhodey drew in a breath.  “Put my head on the chopping block,” he said.  “Sir, I have a feeling about this.  Take it out on me if I’m wrong.  Other officers are working their avenues trying to find out where Stane could be.  Let me work this one.”

The sergeant paused, thinking over Rhodey’s proposal, before saying, “fine, but only because your gut got us the evidence to search those docks in the first place.”

Within the hour, Rhodey was sitting across the table in an interrogation room from Aaron Copeland and his lawyer, a balding man who had a determination about him rivaled only by Rhodey’s own.  Copeland was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, ready to maintain his silence unless his lawyer told him it was okay to speak.

“Let’s skip the small talk,” Rhodey said.  “Shipping logs from your docks were seized this morning in connection to a weapons smuggling case that the NYPD has been trying to crack.  Your logs show shipments with major price discrepancies coming in on dates coinciding with the buying and selling of illegal firearms with organized crime entities all over Manhattan.  You are in deep trouble, Mr. Copeland.  Make no mistake about that.”

“I disagree wholeheartedly, officer,” the lawyer said.  “All your evidence is based on a series of coincidences.”

“Misreporting imports is a crime,” Rhodey countered.  “At the very least, Mr. Copeland could lose his shipping permit.”

“If all you want to charge my client with is misreporting imports, why haven’t you done it?” the laywer asked.  His smug face showed Rhodey that he thought he’d already won.  “Instead of illegally holding him.”

“We’re allowed to hold Mr. Copeland for forty-eight hours before we charge him with something,” Rhodey replied, “and if you’d like us to charge him with misreporting imports and falsifying government documents, we can.  Which, might I remind you, is a form of perjury, making your client not just a criminal, but a felon.  Without my help, he is almost certainly going to prison.”

At this, Copeland made sharp eye contact with his lawyer.  However, the lawyer didn’t seem fazed.

“It sounds like you’re setting up the opportunity for a deal,” the lawyer said.

“Maybe,” Rhodey said, “if your client is willing to cooperate.”

“In what way?”

Rhodey set a pen and notepad down on the table and pushed them towards Aaron Copeland.

“We need some addresses from you, Mr. Copeland.  More specifically, any location where one Obadiah Stane could be hiding out.”

“Forget it,” Copeland said.  “I’m not giving you anything.”

“Do you have a family, Mr. Copeland?” Rhodey asked.  “A wife, maybe a child?  How are you going to provide for them behind bars?  How long do you think it’s going to take before they stop visiting you?  A year?  Six months?”

Rhodey could see Copeland considering what he was saying.  He watched his eyes drift to the side wall and then back to the notepad.

“You could save them a lot of heartache with a few addresses.”

Copeland looked at his lawyer, and after the conferred for a moment, he reached towards the notepad and pen.

“There’s only three places Mr. Stane could be,” he said, starting to write.  “If he’s not there, then I don’t know where he could be.”

He ripped off the top page of the notepad and handed the piece of paper back to Rhodey.

“You should hope that he’s in one of these places, Mr. Copeland,” Rhodey said, standing up, “or things won’t bode well for your deal.” 

***

Tony arrived at the speakeasy hours before the party’s ten o’clock start time to set up JARVIS in a discrete location near the door.  It was initially difficult to keep him hidden while still having his camera face outwards towards the street, but Tony managed, and soon JARVIS was safely behind some thin curtains, peeking out towards the lazy traffic of the afternoon.  After he’d gone outside to check and make sure that JARVIS wasn’t conspicuous while walking into the building, he put in his earpiece and walked back inside.

“Testing,” he muttered.  “JARVIS, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear… sir…”

Tony made a mental note to find a way to speed up JARVIS’ speech patterns even more. 

“All set on what your mission is for tonight?”

“Keeping lookout… sir.  Keeping… you… safe…”

“That’s right, buddy,” Tony said, tapping the earpiece.  He looked at his reflection in the window to check how obvious the mechanism looked in his ear, but its transparent material, combined with its size, made it difficult to spot.  “And I know you’re the best man for the job.”

“Much appreciated… Mr. Stark…”

Hours later, Tony made sure to arrive at the party fifteen minutes after it started, with Pepper on his arm.  They’d debated about whether it was suspicious for them to arrive together, but dismissed it.  The main priority was keeping Obie in check, and by extension, keeping Tony safe.  Giving Obie a chance to separate them from the get-go would jeopardize their mission.

Tony wore a suit that he made sure was nice, but clearly not too nice.  Just good enough that he’d be upset if a drunk partygoer spilled their drink on it, but not good enough to be too torn up if the dry cleaners’ couldn’t get the stain out.  Pepper was wearing a long black dress and a hat to match, an outfit that was beautiful in its own right, but very subdued.  She insisted to Tony that she was still working, and that the event being in his honor didn’t change the fact that there was business she’d have to keep her eye on.  Besides, they both agreed that if Pepper had gone full out with her outfit, she’d hardly blend into the background, which is where they needed her right now.  She was most dangerous when no one saw her coming.

As soon as they walked downstairs, they were greeted by the sound of jazz music and the smell of alcohol.  It seemed that Obie had spared no expense with the party, getting a group of performers to play music late into the night, and bringing the best liquor down from the top shelves of the bar.  The speakeasy was full of family members and friends alike, many dressed to the nines with intricate hats, brightly colored dresses, and stylish heels.  A good portion of the men stood around the tall bar tables, sipping a brandy or whiskey while they chatted, as the women danced with each other to the music.

“There he is!” Obie explained, coming over to give Tony a hug and a kiss.  “I was almost afraid you wouldn’t show up.”

“How could I miss a party?” Tony asked.  “I thought you knew me better than that.”

He smiled, and Obie laughed.  “I certainly do,” Obie said.  He clapped Tony on the back and said, “well, the night is yours.  Do with it what you want.  Ms. Potts,” he turned to Pepper, “if I could borrow your ear for a moment.  There’s something I need to mention to you.”

Tony turned to Pepper, ready to help her make an excuse to stay, but a second of eye contact told him that it wasn’t worth it this early in the night.  She’d be back.

***

“I can’t believe it worked, Rhodes!” the sergeant exclaimed when Rhodey successfully produced the three addresses.  “I’ll have a few unmarked cars scope these places out this afternoon before we send in teams to make the arrest, just to make sure that Copeland didn’t pull a fast one on us.”  He smiled widely at Rhodey, taking another impressed look at the paper Rhodey had handed him.  “You really pulled through for us.”

Rhodey couldn’t help but beam as the sergeant walked away to assemble the men for the unmarked cars.

That night, when it was confirmed that Copeland’s addresses didn’t look suspicious, the sergeant gathered his teams to go in and make the arrest.  Rhodey was assigned to the second team, a group going to a secondary property that Copeland had connected to Obie, a storefront downtown.  The sergeant was not one for pep talks, rather, he wished his men good luck, and reminded them what was on the line. 

“Let’s take down this sonofabitch,” he told them.  “Don’t give me a reason to fire you in the morning.”

Rhodey and Charlie got into their car, turned the siren on, and sped down the street behind another cop car.  All four of them were headed to make the potential arrest.  As Rhodey drove, he felt nervous energy bubble up in his stomach.  If they did have Obie’s correct location, there was no telling what he would do to evade arrest.  He’d been running an illegal smuggling ring of dangerous firearms, and there’s no way he’d go down without a fight.  Rhodey just hoped all four of them got out of this unscathed.

And Tony, there was no way to forget him.  Rhodey wasn’t sure if the man he considered to be his best friend would be able to look him in the face after tonight.  For Tony’s sake, Rhodey hoped this arrest came as a shock.

***

Tony and Pepper knew that staying too close together would risk raising more suspicion than worth the benefit of the constant comfort it gave them, but they still kept an eye on each other as the night progressed.  As Tony kept up what he felt to be dull small talk with people Pepper trained him to remember, Pepper kept her focus fixed on Obie, who was so much the picture of calm, it made Pepper and Tony worry.  Tony fought the urge to tap his earpiece, paranoid that it would loosen and fall out, giving away his safety net.  It was just as he was thinking about slipping off to the bathroom to double check it when Obie approached him again.

“I forgot to ask, Tony,” he said.  “Where is that machine of yours?  I’m dying to see it.”

Tony knew that if he lied and said that the machine wasn’t ready, Obie would read it as a bluff, so instead he said, “upstairs, keeping watch, like I said it would.  The fact that you couldn’t find it means it’s working perfectly.”

Obie chuckled.

“I guess you’re right,” he said.  “That’s a very good point.”

_ “Sir…” _ came JARVIS’ voice over the earpiece.  Tony had tried to train himself to not react when JARVIS’ voice spoke in his ear, but he still gave the slightest of jumps.

“I think I’m going to get another drink at the bar,” he said quickly.  “Remind me to show you how my machine works when the party thins out.”

As Tony walked into the thickest part of the crowd, he muttered, “what is it, JARVIS?”

_ “Sir… security footage shows… police…” _

“Headed this way?” Tony asked, feeling his heart rate pick up.

_ “Very likely… two minutes out… I’d say.  Sirens on…” _

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Tony muttered.  “Let me know if you see anything else.”

He searched the crowd for Pepper, who was standing against a back wall holding a drink in her hand that Tony knew was purely for show.  He walked over to her as fast as he could without raising suspicion, stood next to her, and said quietly, “JARVIS says police are on their way.  What do we do?”

Pepper took this information in within a moment, her face never changing, and she replied softly, “wait until you hear the sirens, even faintly, and then tell Obie.  We have precautions for this.  It shouldn’t-”

_ “Sir…” _ came JARVIS’ voice.   _ “An unidentified… man has entered… the building.” _

“Does he look dangerous?” Tony asked, trying to keep himself calm.

_ “I believe he has… a gun.” _

At that moment, Tony could hear signs of a struggle upstairs, which he could only assume was between the mystery man and the guard sitting at the counter, and then a gunshot.  A gasp rippled through the room.  That was when the police sirens became audible, slowly gaining in volume as multiple cars approached.

“Everyone, remain calm,” Obie said, his booming voice rising above the noises of distress coming from the party patrons.  “We have procedures for this sort of thing.  If you’ll just-”

The police sirens stopped getting louder, but by now it already felt like they were screaming.  Upstairs, several more people entered the storefront, who Tony could only assume were the officers.

Chaos broke out.  People pushed past each other as they tried to leave before they were arrested.  Tony could only wonder what the police were doing about the mystery man upstairs when he could hear the door being broken down.  Four uniformed officers came rushing down the stairs, one of which Tony immediately recognized as Rhodey.

“Quiet!” called one of the officers.  “Everyone stay where you-”

That was when the lights cut out, both in the speakeasy and upstairs, so that the entire building was dark.  Someone screamed.  Another gunshot rang out in the speakeasy, much closer this time, and Tony could make out one of the officers saying, “I said hold your fire!” over the noise of people shouting before he felt something grab him in the dark.

When the lights came back on a few seconds later, there was a body bleeding out on the ground.

And Tony Stark was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Tony felt was the pain pounding in his head, just behind his eyes.  It took him a moment to realize that they were even open, because wherever he was was pitch black.  When he breathed in, the room smelled musty and dust gathered in the back of his throat.  He let it out with a weak cough.

Despite the pain behind his temples, Tony tried to focus on reconstructing what events he did remember in his mind.  He was at the party in the speakeasy when he got word of police, then of that mystery man, and finally the lights went out when they busted down the door... 

Like his brain was still trying to catch up with itself, he suddenly remembered JARVIS was the one who warned him about the police and the lone intruder.  His hand shot up to his right ear to check for the earpiece, only to discover that it was missing.  He swore.  Best case scenario it fell out while he was being transported to… wherever this was.  Worst case, well, he didn’t want to think of who could be studying it right now.

There were only a few select people who knew that there was a party happening that night.  Though Tony believed that the more likely scenario was that someone tipped off the police, it was still within the realm of possibility that they were an unfortunate coincidence.  That man with the gun, however, there was no way he was random.  He’d come in with an express purpose, and whether that was kidnapping Tony or Tony was simply collateral damage, there was no way to know while just sitting in the dark.

He tried to get up, but his dizziness from what he assumed was being hit over the head made it difficult to stand.  Resolving to work on that later, he began to feel his way around in the dark.  He soon learned that he was very close to a concrete wall, sitting on a concrete floor, and if he crawled around, all he encountered was more concrete.  The room was about ten by ten feet and appeared to be empty besides himself, with no sign of a light switch.  The only faint light he could make out once his eyes adjusted was from a crack in the wall in front of him.  Tony could only hope that was a door.  He could try it now, but in all likelihood it was locked and guarded.  He’d need a better plan before trying to break out of here.

Just as he was beginning to wonder how much longer he’d have to wait in this room before something happened, he heard footsteps beyond the far wall.  A brighter light came on in the outside hallway, and after a moment Tony heard the door unlocking and opening.  The light coming in from the hallway initially blinded him, and after he grimaced and covered his eyes, they slowly got used to the overwhelming amount of light.  

In front of him was a tall man with dark hair and a thick beard.  He stood patiently waiting for Tony to lower his arm and look at him properly, fingers clasped together.  When Tony finally got a decent look at him, he smiled.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Stark,” he said.  His voice had a thick Russian accent.  “I was beginning to think that you were dead.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Tony muttered.

“No, of course not,” the man said.  “If you’re going to die, and make no mistake, Mr. Stark, that’s certainly a possibility, I’d like it to be on my terms.”

“It seems like the continuation of my life should be on my terms, don’t you think?” Tony asked.  He rubbed the bump on his head and when his hand came away it was sticky with half-dried blood.

“Oh, Tony,” the man said, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.  When he smiled, it unsettled Tony in a way so visceral he couldn’t describe it.  “You forfeited that right the moment you let the police interfere with our families’ agreement.”

“Agreement?” Tony asked.  “I don’t know you.  And do you really think I’d tip the police off to my own speakeasy?  You clearly don’t have a mind for business.”

“You didn’t need to tell them,” the man replied.  “You invited them in the moment you kept your cop friend so close.  This was an inevitability, Mr. Stark, a long time in the making, that was finally realized tonight.”

The man reached into his pocket, and Tony’s heart rate sped up.  If he knew anything about men like this, there was a good chance that the man in front of him was about to pull out a gun.  Tony decided to stall.

“Maybe so, but I still don’t know what agreement has got you so upset,” he said.

“The weapons agreement between our families, facilitated by one Obadiah Stane, was compromised tonight,” the man said, “but it truly ended months ago, and Mr. Stane simply decided to keep me in the dark.  So now, I’m keeping you in the dark.”  He chuckled.  “A bit literal, I know, but I appreciate the irony.”

He finally removed his hand from his pocket and pulled out something that made Tony wish it was a gun.  In the man’s hand as his earpiece.

“Can you tell me, Mr. Stark,” the man said, turning the earpiece over gently in his fingers, “what this is?”

“How could I see it, with how dark this room is?” Tony asked.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” the man said.  “It won’t save you any time.  This interesting object fell out of your ear when my men and I were bringing you from the speakeasy, and it did the most fascinating thing.  It started talking to me.”

He smiled, almost wistfully, at the earpiece.

“That is, until it realized I wasn’t you.  Then it went quiet.  But do you know what it was saying, Mr. Stark?  It was calling for you.   _ ‘Mr. Stark?  Can you hear me, Mr. Stark?  Sir, the police are here, and I’ve lost sight of the man upstairs…’” _

He looked directly at Tony, while still holding the earpiece in between his fingers, and shook his head in practical disbelief.

“I heard you were developing some kind of alarm system, but one that talks?  In real time?  Now that’s something I could’ve only imagined.”

He put the earpiece back in his pocket, and Tony felt a kind of pain in his chest when it disappeared out of his sight.

“Build me one, and I might repay you with your life,” the man said.  Tony went to protest, but the man cut him off.  “See, there’s a hit out on you, Mr. Stark.  There’s a large sum waiting for the person who takes you out, and I could kill you and take it all for myself, but this project is much more valuable to me than any amount of money.  However, if you refuse, you’re worth more to me dead than alive.”  He paused, waiting for Tony to comment, but instead Tony kept silent.  “Very good,” the man said.  “I need you to tell me a list of all the materials you’ll need by tonight, and I’ll set you up in a workspace more suitable than…” he looked around the room, “this.  You try something funny, and I’ll gladly collect on that reward.”

He looked at Tony, who still sat silently in front of him, mind racing.  The best thing he could do now was remain compliant until he thought of a way to get out of here.  He hardly believed that giving this man JARVIS 2.0 was going to do anything more than buy him a little time.

“Do you have any questions?”

“Just one,” Tony said.  “Who should I have the system answer to?”

“Anton Vanko,” the man said before leaving the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

***

The sight of the body sent a chorus of screams throughout the crowd left in the speakeasy.  Several people had used the chaos to slip out before arrest, but as soon as it became clear that something more dire had occurred, the four cops managed to organize.

“Franklin!” the officer who appeared to be in charge called, “lock this place down.  No one comes in or out.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie said, and ran upstairs.

“Johnson!”  The man turned to his partner.

“Yeah, Tom?”

He lowered his voice.  “Try to keep some order in this room.  Calm these people down a bit.  We’re not really interested in arresting people for drinking.  We just came here for Stane.”  He then raised his voice again and shouted, “Rhodes!  Rhodes, where are you?”

“Over here, and sir, you’re gonna want to take a look at this.”

Tom walked towards the sound of Rhodey’s voice, which was coming from inside an ever growing crowd of people huddled around… something.  He approached, and when he finally got to the front, he saw Rhodey kneeling over someone’s body.  Rhodey was shaking his head.

“Meet Obadiah Stane,” he said.

Tom swore.  There wasn’t a point in asking if Obie was dead.  He’d been shot in the back of the head, execution style, was lying on his back with blood still coming out of the bullet hole.  His glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, and his skin was looking paler by the minute.

“One of those mob bastards probably got to him first,” Tom said.

“But why would they shoot their own guy?” Rhodey asked.

“They found out that he was double-crossing them?” Tom suggested.  His tone was somewhat flippant, as if he didn’t care about what killed Obie, just about the fact that they couldn’t arrest him.

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” Rhodey muttered.  “The entire family was benefiting in some way from Obadiah selling to anyone who’d buy.  I think this was a hit.”

“From a rival family?” Tom asked.

“More likely an allied family that found out Obadiah was selling to the enemy,” Rhodey said.  “I’m willing to bet there was someone in attendance who wasn’t supposed to be at this party.”

At this point Rhodey heard a woman’s voice shouting, “will you just let me through!” and out of the crowd emerged a fed up Pepper Potts.  When her eyes found Obie’s body, she gasped.  People had died around her before, but never anyone she was this close to.  She froze for a moment, unable to tear her gaze away from Obie, but once she regained her composure she noticed Rhodey.

“Officer Rhodes,” she said, putting on a fake smile and taking a step towards him.  “I’m so glad you’re here.  We have to find out who did this.”

“Rhodes, who is she?” Tom asked.

“This is Pepper Potts,” Rhodey said, standing up, “a close associate of Tony Stark’s.”  He paused, in that moment realizing that he hadn’t seen Tony anywhere.  “Ms. Potts,” he said, “where  _ is _ Tony?”

“What are you talking about?” Pepper asked.  She’d been so focused on the crowd that she hadn’t noticed where Tony’d been standing.  “Have you not seen him?”

“Was he here?” Rhodey asked.  He felt his heart sink a little.  A part of him had been hoping that Tony was ignorant of all of Obie’s illegal activities.

Pepper knew that she could lie and say that Tony had never been in the speakeasy, but that cover wasn’t worth the heartache it would save the two friends if Tony truly was in danger.  She motioned for Rhodey to come with her to a more private part of the speakeasy, and Rhodey turned to Tom.

“Are you good here?” he asked.

“Yeah, go ahead, Rhodes,” Tom replied.

Rhodey followed Pepper out of the crowd and over towards the back wall of the basement.  When they were safely out of earshot of most of the party patrons, she said, “this party was organized in Mr. Stark’s honor.”

“Organized?  By Stane?” Rhodey asked.

“Yes,” Pepper replied.  “But Mr. Stane has been acting very suspiciously lately, so Mr. Stark asked me to come with him and watch his back.”

“Do you think he ran when we arrived?” Rhodey asked, the idea making him feel a bit sick.

“Doubtful,” Pepper said, shaking her head.  “He wouldn’t have a good enough reason to.  Mr. Stark and his associates are very good at getting out of legal trouble.”  She paused, surveying the room.  “I agree, Mr. Stane’s death looks like a hit, but I don’t think he was the original target.”

It took Rhodey a second to catch onto what Pepper was saying.

“You think that someone came here to kill Tony and killed Obadiah instead?  And then did what, kidnapped Tony?”

“Someone might’ve decided that Mr. Stark was worth more alive than dead,” Pepper said, “and based on what you were telling your colleague, Mr. Stane double-crossed some people he shouldn’t have.  I don’t find my suggestion to be a stretch.”

Rhodey nodded, taking in what Pepper was saying, before replying, “alright.  You know situations like this better than I do.  I’ll see if I can convince my sergeant to consider Tony Stark a missing person and launch an investigation.”

“We don’t have time for that!” Pepper exclaimed.  She then took a moment to regain her composure before speaking.  “Who knows how long it will take for whoever this is to change their mind, or for Tony to give them a  _ reason _ to change their mind.  We can’t wait to go through bureaucratic channels on this.”

“I also can’t launch a rogue investigation,” Rhodey countered.  He sighed, thinking about what alternatives they had.  “If you come into the station,” he said, “we can use your input to better convince my sergeant.  I might not be able to get many resources to work with, but I could convince him to assign me and my partner to the case.  Either way, you’d be some good leverage.”

“Forgive me if I’m not really comfortable with the idea of voluntarily going to a police station.”

“What choice do we have?  This is the best way to save Tony, if he really is in danger.  My way was too slow, your way would get me  _ fired, _ so we have to find some common ground here.”

Pepper looked from the thinning crowd around Obie’s body, to the three other officers, and then back to Rhodey.

“For Tony,” she said.  “Let’s hope he hasn’t already severely aggravated the person holding him.”

***

What Anton Vanko didn’t know was that the best way for Tony start to plan an escape was to be left alone with his own thoughts.  In a tiny, dark room while sitting on a cold concrete floor wasn’t his ideal setting, but it worked nonetheless.  By the time Vanko came back to fetch Tony and bring him to his new workspace, Tony was already confident in his ability to execute the preliminary stages of a way out of here.

The door opened and once again the light from the hallway poured in.  Tony wouldn’t put it past Vanko to keep the lights bright just to blind his prisoner, and his arm shot up to shield his eyes from what was coming in through the doorway.

“Do you have my list, Mr. Stark?” he asked.

“All up here,” Tony said, using the pointer finger his other hand to tap his temple.  “Though I won’t know what you can handle until I see where you’re making me work.”

“What my facilities can handle is none of your concern,” Vanko said.  He then turned to someone outside the cell and spoke a few brief words in Russian.  A man came inside, grabbed a still weak Tony by the arm, and dragged him to his feet.

“Walk,” the man said, also with an accent, and pushed Tony forward.  His grip on Tony’s arm was so tight, Tony was afraid he could break it.

The three men walked down a series of hallways in what appeared to be some basement level of a building Tony couldn’t place.  The walls were hopelessly generic concrete, with no adornments or even signage, and they were probably thick enough to soundproof the place too.  After a few minutes, Vanko unlocked another room, and inside Tony saw a decently spacious working area with several steel tables, with a few hardware tools neatly laid out on the one closest to the door.

“Before you complain that this is not to your satisfaction,” Vanko said, “I’m confident in your ability to make everything work.  Nevertheless, if you request a tool or two with materials, I’ll see what I can do.”  He smiled again in the way that made Tony’s stomach turn.

“I’ll make it work,” Tony said, his voice weaker than he would’ve liked.

Vanko took a small notepad and a pen out of his pocket and handed them to Tony.

“Write,” he said.

“Not even a please?” Tony joked.  Vanko gave the smallest of scowls.

While Tony was certain that Vanko had no idea what went into making JARVIS, he also had a feeling that this man was good at seeing through any tricks.  He kept his list within the realm of possibility, and handed it back to Vanko.

“These materials will be here tomorrow morning,” Vanko said.  “That I can promise.”  He then turned back to the man still holding Tony’s arm and said something else in Russian.  The man nodded, then pushed Tony back towards the door.  Whether they were walking the same way they came, or in a completely different direction, Tony had no idea, but after a few minutes they were back at Tony’s cell.  The man unlocked the door, pushed Tony inside, and slammed the door behind him, leaving Tony once again in darkness.

***

The car ride over to Rhodey’s precinct was made significantly faster by Rhodey’s decision to put the siren on.  He’d debated it, but if Tony really was kidnapped they were now working against the clock, and he wasn’t about to take any chances.  Both due to the siren and their minimal relationship, Pepper and Rhodey barely exchanged two words on the drive.  Instead, Pepper opted for formulating her own plan.  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Rhodey, it was just that she trusted him to go through only official channels until they found Tony, dead or alive, or the trail went cold.  She was prepared to not give the trail a chance to do that.

When they arrived in the parking lot Rhodey switched off the siren, got out of the car, and went to open the car door for Pepper when he saw her already on her feet, arms crossed, waiting for him.  A little surprised, he dismissed the interaction quickly and started walking towards the precinct door.  After a step or two, he felt Pepper grab his arm.

“We need a plan,” she said, her voice low.

“We have a plan,” Rhodey countered.  “We’re talking to my sergeant.  You’re going to tell him what happened.”

“That leaves room for error,” she replied.  “There are too many variables there.  Here, follow my lead.”

She took Rhodey’s arm and Rhodey, not willing to fight her on it, walked with her through the precinct doors.  Once Pepper was sure they were in sight of the full bullpen, let her body crumple enough that her weight was placed squarely on Rhodey, but not enough so that she fell off her feet.  Rhodey looked down to see what was going on, and saw tears pricking Pepper’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Officer Rhodes,” she said between little sniffles, making sure her voice carried.  “It’s just, I’m devastated.  I’ll try to keep it together.”

By now she had the attention of a majority of the officers milling around the bullpen.  One of them came up to her.

“What seems to be the problem, miss?” he asked.

“It’s just, oh-” Pepper started to cry, before willing herself to stop and wiping away the few tears she shed.  “I’m so sorry.  I told myself I’d be strong.  I’ve just suffered a terrible fright, and this brave officer told me that if I came into the station, I could speak to his sergeant about the awfulness I just witnessed.”  She then started crying again, her sobs starting to look uncontrollable.

“It’s alright, darling,” the officer said.  He put a tender hand on Pepper’s shoulder.  “Rhodes will show you the way, won’t you Rhodes?”

He made sharp eye contact with Rhodey, who was thoroughly taken aback.

“Of course,” Rhodey said quickly.  He was now completely aware of how Pepper had gotten the whole bullpen watching them, including the sergeant, who was now walking over to the three of them.

“No need,” the sergeant said.  “What’s your name, miss?”

“Virginia Potts,” Pepper said, her tears slowing down.  “Are you the sergeant?”

“That’s right,” he said.  “Why don’t you come into my office where we’ll have a bit more privacy, and we’ll chat.”

“Can Officer Rhodes come with us?” Pepper asked.  “He’s been so much of a help, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he-”  She stopped, a sudden fright clouding her expression.

The sergeant didn’t look particularly pleased by this idea, but still replied, “of course, Miss Potts.  Whatever will make you most comfortable.”

The three of them walked into the sergeant’s office, Rhodey closing the door after them.  The sergeant sat behind his desk, Pepper across from him, and Rhodey next to her off to the side.

“Now, sweetheart,” the sergeant said.  “Why don’t you tell me what happened, in your own words.”

“I work for Stark Shipping and Company,” Pepper said, working to keep herself from crying.  “I’m Tony Stark’s personal assistant.”

“That’s a big job,” the sergeant said.  “You must have a lot on your plate, miss.”

“That’s right,” Pepper said, nodding, “but I manage.  Anyway, I was at a work function with Mr. Stark when- when-” she started crying again.  Rhodey offered her his handkerchief.

“She’s quite shook,” Rhodey said quietly in the sergeant’s direction.  “It’s alright, Ms. Potts.  You’re safe here.”

“Thank you, officer,” Pepper said.  She took in a shaky breath and continued.  “I was at a work function with Mr. Stark when, all of a sudden, the lights cut out.  There was gunshots, chaos, and when the lights came back up, Mr. Stark- he was-  Well, sergeant, he was gone.  There was nothing anyone could do in the dark.  I think someone took him.”

That was all it took for Pepper to start sobbing again.  Her body shook with tears as she tried and failed to hide her face from the sergeant out of politeness.

“There, there,” the sergeant said, patting her shoulder.  He then looked at Rhodey and muttered, “Rhodes, is this true?  Do you really think Stark is missing?”

“It seems that way, sir,” Rhodey muttered back, though he felt a bit miffed at Pepper calling the party at the speakeasy a “work function.”

“Well, don’t worry, Miss Potts,” the sergeant said.  “You’ll have the whole force of my precinct behind this case looking for him.”

“You- you will?” Pepper asked tentatively.

“You bet.  Mr. Stark is a very important man, and we won’t rest until we find him.”

“Thank you, sergeant!” Pepper exclaimed.  “I don’t know how I could ever repay you!”

“Just knowing that that pretty little face of yours will no longer shed tears is repayment enough for me,” the sergeant said.  “Now Rhodes, why don’t you bring her home before you come back and start working on this case.”

“Right away, sir,” Rhodey said.  He led Pepper out of the sergeant’s office and out the precinct door, trying and failing to ignore the stares in Pepper’s direction from the other officers.  When they were out of the building and in the car, Pepper’s face completely changed.  She was smiling so widely, it would’ve been impossible to guess that she’d been sobbing a minute before.

“What was that about?” Rhodey asked.

“That is how you get a police sergeant to do what you want,” Pepper said.  “You should keep that in mind, though, I’m not sure your face is pretty enough to make it work.”  She laughed and leaned back in the front seat of the car, closing her eyes.  They were going to find Tony.  They had to.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of "part one", so to speak. I was thinking of making the next part a separate sequel fic, but I wanted to keep them at the same link. Thank you to all of you who've supported this so far! I don't plan on taking a break in between parts, but I tend to take a lot of them accidentally anyway.

If Tony had to give Vanko any credit, it would be that his punctuality was impeccable. Early the next morning, a bright light shining in from the hallway woke Tony up, who was huddled on the floor, wrapped in his jacket for some semblance of comfort. The same large man from before came in and grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet right before Vanko walked in.

“Your materials are here,” Vanko said, “which means you start work now.”

“I see,” Tony said quietly. “Why not just work your best asset to death?”

“Wait a few days before you talk of being worked to death,” Vanko replied with a small chuckle. Tony didn’t know if there was any context where Vanko didn’t mean that as a threat.

If the two men led him down the same set of hallways to get back to the lab, Tony wouldn’t have known. Half asleep, surrounded by identical looking doors, walls, and lights, they might as well have led him in a circle five times before opening the door next to his cell. When Vanko at last unlocked a door, Tony saw the same work tables as last time, this time covered with many more tools and materials, all of which Tony recognized as the items from his list.

“You will stay here until I fetch you,” Vanko said. “When I leave, the door locks behind me, and there will be a guard outside. You try anything, I will not hesitate to order you dead, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Tony said.

“Every day I will see evidence of your progress. No progress, and there will be consequences.”

“C’mon, Vanko,” Tony started. “You can’t force genius.”

“The genius is done, Mr. Stark,” Vanko replied. “Now it’s just a matter of remembering what you did. I trust you can handle that much.”

With that, Vanko left the room, the large man following behind him. Tony could only assume that he would be guarding the door. Once the door had shut behind the both of them, Tony looked at the tools and materials in front of him. He estimated that he’d have less than a week to work before Vanko suspected anything, and only one chance to deploy his plan correctly. If it didn’t work, Tony struggled to see a way out of this.

Sometimes, failure just wasn’t an option.

There was no way to track time in a workroom with no clocks or windows. Tony worked until the only thing that mattered were the materials in front of him, a collection of metals and wires on one table, and a second collection on the far end of the table. With every major breakthrough, he switched projects. He knew that making a decoy machine and a way out of here was going to slow his progress significantly, but he had to hope that Vanko didn’t know how fast he worked, or how good his memory was.

His eyes were getting foggy from the room’s ever dimming electric light, his palms were getting re-callused from handling tools, and his fingers were going raw from handling small machine parts in suboptimal working conditions, but he didn’t plan on stopping. If Vanko was going to keep him in here all night, that would just be a few more hours of freedom he’d gain on the other side of this.

After what Tony estimated was eighteen hours, he heard the sound of the door opening behind him. He heard two different footfalls enter the room, one of which he figured belonged to Vanko. Tony didn’t look up from what he was doing.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Vanko said.

“Did I have a choice?” Tony asked. At this he finally looked up from the partially built machine on the worktable in front of him. He turned around, seeing Vanko standing next to a different large man than before, who Tony assumed was playing the double role of Tony’s handler and Vanko’s bodyguard.

“Not really,” Vanko said dismissively. “I suppose you shouldn’t get credit for observing the obvious. Not with your supposed genius.” As he said this he picked up a partially put together mechanical component off of a worktable and twisted it around in his fingers.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” Tony said, but making no move to stop him. “These parts are highly sensitive, and any damage you cause could set me back days.”

“For your sake, Mr. Stark, I hope that doesn’t happen,” Vanko said with a smile. He then walked closer to Tony, clasping his hands together. “Alright, then,” he said. “Show me what you’ve done.”

Tony gestured to the two items on the table behind him. Vanko’s keen eyes cased the series of wires, screws, and metal parts, but Tony could tell he understood very little. He wasn’t even sure if Tony had put them together successfully. That’s what Tony had been banking on.

“Why is it in half?” Vanko asked.

“This machine operates on two levels,” Tony said, having already prepared for this question, “he has a body and a mind, we’ll call it. It makes the most sense for me to switch back and forth between building those two. No sense in building a brain as sensitive as his without protecting it.”

Vanko took another long look at the progress Tony had made before turning away.

“Very well then, Mr. Stark. For once, I can’t complain.”

He then said something in Russian to the man still standing near the door, and the man walked over and grabbed Tony’s arm.

“Get some rest,” Vanko said. “You’ll have even longer days ahead of you.”

The man pulled Tony from the room by his bicep and began to lead him back down the maze of hallways.

“You know I can walk, right?” Tony muttered, but the man didn’t acknowledge Tony’s words if he heard them. The walk back was short, significantly shorter than the walk to the workroom, yet when the large man stopped in front of a specific door and unlocked it, Tony saw his jacket lying on the floor, showing that it was the same cell as before.

“Get in,” the man said, pushing Tony forward just enough so that he could close the door. As it shut, Tony heard the sound of the key turning in the lock, and he was once again surrounded by darkness. He got on the ground and felt around on the floor until he found his jacket. He wrapped it around his shoulders, settling against the back wall of his cell.

Someone had to be looking for him. There’s no way Pepper or Rhodey would let this stand. He just needed to make sure he could point them in the right direction.

His next handful of days consisted of sleeping and working, with an occasional break for a meal. He had no idea how many days he’d been down here, or how many hours he worked in a day or slept in a night. With his surroundings either the same, low lamps or the pitch blackness of his cell, there was no way to know what kind of schedule Vanko was keeping him on. Each day, Vanko came to check on his progress, and each day Tony was able to justify exactly why the machine was in its current state. While he liked to believe that Vanko was buying his story, there was no way to completely tell. The man’s face was one of the least expressive Tony had ever seen, only letting on what he wanted Tony to know, and this only made Tony more agitated.

Finally, at about the point where Tony had estimated he’d been down here for no less than four days and no more than six, he was ready to put his plan into motion. The second, smaller machine (the one he’d dubbed JARVIS’ “brain”), sat unpolished but functional on the worktable. Tony knew it had to operate silently, with no moving parts. If Vanko knew it was doing something, his entire plan would be sabotaged. The problem was, he’d have no way of knowing if it was working without those kinds of signs. After all the tests he’d conducted, he’d have to rely on faith alone.

Drawing in a measured breath, he swallowed his nerves and switched it on. As expected, the machine did nothing. The only indicator that it was on was the position of its switch. Best case scenario: everything had gone off without a hitch. Worst case scenario: he had just put his trust in a machine that was doing absolutely nothing.

***

With each passing day, Pepper, Rhodey, and the officers in Rhodey’s precinct grew increasingly strained in looking for Tony. They’d officially declared Tony Stark a missing person, canvassed all the usual spots known for mob activity, and doubled their patrols in more off the grid neighborhoods. However, it was as Pepper had feared: the NYPD was still play catch-up with the mob, and if they didn’t find him soon, Tony was going to pay the price for it.

On day six of Tony’s disappearance, Pepper was sitting in the front seat of Rhodey’s police car as he was conducting one of his patrols. He’d already informed her several days ago that coming along wasn’t exactly in line with protocol, but it took one sniffle in the sergeant’s direction for Rhodey to realize that anything Pepper wanted was now in line with protocol. The static of the AM radio was crackling in between bits of chatter from other police officers, and filling the silence between Rhodey and Pepper as Rhodey drove.

Pepper found herself staring out the window, hands folded in her lap, her lips pursed together. She knew that with every passing day, the chance of finding Tony at all, let alone alive, was waning. Forget the politics of who would take over the family with both Obie and Tony dead, forget the business, forget the outstanding deals and shipments. There was something heavier that was weighing on her heart when she forced herself to consider the possibility that she would never see Tony Stark again. To consider when he’d be considered a lost cause, when she’d have to watch the NYPD stop actively investigating his case, and watch everything he was collect dust in a police file in some records room in Manhattan.

“You’d think they’d figure out how to get us a clearer sound than this,” Rhodey muttered, fiddling with the knobs on the radio, trying to make out what another officer was saying. “I swear, the radio plays come through clearer than-”

He was cut off not by louder static, but by silence. As if someone had blocked the frequency, the radio, still on, went silent. Rhodey pressed the power button off and on to see if it made a difference, to no avail. Then, a beeping came over the radio. It took him a second to realize what was happening before said, “Pepper! Take out your notepad. Write these down.”

He pulled over and leaned closer to the radio, trying to hear the beeping better, and began muttering to himself.

“A… R… K… STOP. S… T… A… R… K… STOP. S… - Pepper!”

He turned to her, eyes wide.

“This is morse code,” he said. “It’s spelling ‘Stark!’ Over and over!”

He let out an incredulous breath.

“This has to be him. I don’t know a single other guy who could intercept, block, and send a message on our radio frequency like that.”

“But does it say how to find him?” Pepper asked. Just as she did, there was another bit of silence, and then a different set of beeping started. Rhodey leaned back into the radio, listening intently, and after a moment said. “Does the name ‘Vanko’ mean anything to you?”

As he said this, the beeping stopped once again, but this time, so did the silence, and the buzz of police officers trying to get through resumed. She and Rhodey stared at the radio, both of them feeling as though, if the other hadn’t been in the car, they might’ve not believed what had just happened.

“Vanko,” Pepper said to herself quietly. She gave herself a second to get over her nervousness before looking at Rhodey with an expression that meant business. “That’s a Russian mob family. Mr. Stane used to meet with them, and Howard Stark before him.”

“Would they have a reason to kidnap Tony?” Rhodey asked.

“If they found out that Mr. Stane was double crossing them, they might’ve kidnapped Tony as some kind of retaliation against the Stark family.”

“And that also explains the hit on Obadiah,” Rhodey said. “Would you know where to find them?”

“Yes,” Pepper said. “I know where they’re based, but you can’t just take ten officers and storm the place. Your people will die. We need a plan.”

“Who said anything about storming the place?” Rhodey asked with a smile. “This is what I do.”

Reaching down towards his radio transmitter, he switched it on and spoke into it.

“All units, this is Rhodes. We have a strong lead on a potential location. Heading back now. Rhodes out.” 

He then flipped on the car’s siren, and took off, blaring, down the street towards the precinct.

***

Hours later, as dusk was settling in, a rundown house on the Lower East Side heard a knock at the door. Inside, two men stood up from the kitchen table and put a hand on their hip, feeling for a weapon. The woman standing at the stove turned the fire down, picked up the child playing with a toy train on the carpet, and carried him into the next room. Once he was safely inside, she shut the door, just as the person outside knocked a second time.

“Coming!” she called, making purposeful eye contact with the men standing up from the table. They slowly sat down, hands still on their hips.

She walked to the door and opened it to see a tall blonde woman in a modest dress and short heels standing on the front steps. In her hand, she held a notepad, and on her face, she wore a small smile.

“Hello,” the blonde woman said. Her voice was measured and all business. “My name is Julie. I work for the City of New York, and I’m here to conduct a routine home inspection.”

“There must be some mistake,” the other woman said, a light Russian accent coloring her speech. “We would’ve been informed-”

“You didn’t get a letter?” Julie asked. “I’m terribly sorry about that, but it’s all right here.”

It was then that the woman noticed that Julie was holding an envelope in her other hand. She handed it to the woman, who opened it and saw that, to her surprise, there was an official letter from the City of New York, seal and all, informing her that her house had been randomly selected for home inspection to check the safety of the block.

“Can I come in?” Julie asked sweetly. “It’ll take less than an hour, I promise.”

The woman turned back to look inside, meeting the eyes of the two men at the kitchen table. Their hands had drifted away from their hips, sensing no danger.

“Of course,” the woman said, turning back to Julie. “I’ll give you the tour.”

The woman walked through her two story home, eyes carefully watching Julie as she tested windows, locks, and the general state of the house. As she looked everything over, she would mutter to herself, then jot down notes on the small notepad she was holding. After being led through the kitchen, the dining room, and the bedrooms upstairs, they were back to the front of the house.

“I think that’s everything,” the woman said.

“Hmm,” Julie said to herself, looking around. She spied the basement door.

“What’s down there?” she asked.

“Nothing,” the woman said, her voice measured. “Just storage.”

“Could I take a look?” Julie asked. “I have to see all parts of the house, even the storage.” She laughed airily.

The woman hesitated for a moment, but out of the corner of her eye saw the slightest nod from one of them men at the kitchen table, who hadn’t budged since Julie had entered the house.

“Alright,” the woman said. “I’ll lead the way.”

As they descended the stairs into darkness, the woman found the switch and illuminated the basement in a dull, yellow light. Piled high were boxes, marked with labels such as “to donate” or “spare clothes.”

“Everything seems to be in order,” Julie said. “If you could just show me out, I’ll be on my way.”

The woman led Julie up the stairs, and it only took her a moment to realize that the kitchen was too quiet before she felt Julie grab both her wrists, tying them behind her. It was then that the woman saw both men at the table with their hands cuffed behind them, guns on a far table, and two officers waiting for her.

“Surprised?” Julie asked, her voice now much more sinister. She led the woman over to one of the officers.

“You should make sure all your doors are locked,” she said, before turning to another officer and saying, “Parker, show them the warrant.”

Parker took a piece of paper out of his pocket and smugly displayed it to the three of them.

“I’ve never seen a lady police officer before,” one of the men muttered.

“Oh, I’m not a police officer,” Julie said. “My name is Pepper Potts, and you’re going to tell me where Tony Stark is.”

***

_ “1615 Main, near the docks. Over.” _

The address came over the police radio frequency after fifteen minutes of Rhodey sitting in his squad car, two blocks away from the Vanko house.

“That’s the address they gave you?” Rhodey asked. “These mob guys don’t break that easily. It could be a trap, and if it isn’t, it means they think their guys are good enough to beat a shootout with police. Are you sure it’s worth checking out? Over.”

_ “Your officers may not be able to get anyone in the mob to do what they want, but that’s my job,”  _ came Pepper’s voice over the radio.  _ “He’s there. You’re right though, it will be dangerous. But outsmarting dangerous mob guys is your job. Over.” _

Rhodey sighed. “Can’t argue with that. All available units, report to 1615 Main, and keep a low profile. All sirens off within a few blocks of the docks. See you on the other side of this. Rhodes out.”

He then started his car, switched on the siren, and took off barreling down the street.

***

Tony had lost all sense of time. He figured he’d been down here for at least a week, but if someone had told him it had been months, he would’ve believed them. He never expected to get more than a few hours of sleep a night, so when he woke up naturally, instead of being blinded away by the light of the hallway, after what felt like twice his normal rest, he was suspicious.

His first thought, and hope, was that his plan had worked. That someone had heard his transmission on the police radio and they’d come to rescue him. But he knew what kind of person Vanko was. If he felt the police closing in, he wasn’t going to let them take his prized asset with him. If Vanko was going to go down, Tony knew he’d try and take him with him.

Tony knew he couldn’t take one of those giant muscle guys. If he caught Vanko surprised, he could probably buy himself enough time to escape, but escape to where? These tunnels were a labyrinth that only Vanko and his guys could navigate, and they’d find him quickly.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door finally opening, and in ran Vanko, followed by two of his bodyguards.

“Up,” he commanded, yanking Tony to his feet. One of the men grabbed Tony, like usual, and led him straight to the workroom this time. No strange turns, no doubling back. The carelessness of that action tipped Tony off to how dire the situation must be above ground. Unless Vanko was playing a long game, he was under pressure. Tony just had to force him to make a mistake.

They unlocked the workroom and handed Tony a cardboard box off of one of the free tables.

“Take everything you need to continue your work and put it in here,” Vanko said.

“Are we moving offices?” Tony asked, unable to hide his smugness. “And as soon as this place was starting to feel like home. What a shame.”

One of the men took his gun off his hip and cocked it, pointing it directly at Tony.

“Move,” he said, nodding his head towards the worktables covered in metal and wire. “Now.”

“Alright,” Tony said, grabbing the box off the table. “No need to get so fussy.”

“You have five minutes,” Vanko said.

“Or what?” Tony asked. “You’ll shoot me? You have no idea-”

The man with the gun shot a bullet inches from Tony’s foot. The sound reverberated off the walls, giving Tony an idea.

“You don’t need to stand to work,” Vanko said. “Try me. See if I’m bluffing. You’ll be the one with a bullet in your leg.”

“You’re right,” Tony said, raising the volume of his voice ever so slightly. “That wouldn’t be my first course of action.”

“Then pack,” Vanko said. “Your clock is ticking.”

As Tony packed up all of his materials, he kept talking, continuing to increase how loud he was speaking by small increments as he spoke.

“You know, a lot of this stuff is delicate. This box should at least have some padding in it. Maybe some packing paper. Just letting you know, it’s not my fault if something breaks. Now, I don’t want to tell you how to ship things, but that was my entire business. Though, like you said before, I’m just a mechanical monkey with the brains to make this happen. Even so, I wouldn’t be surprised if-”

“Will you shut up?” Vanko shouted.

Gunshot.

Tony hit the ground. A series of shots rang out over the course of a few seconds, and then stopped. Slowly, Tony looked up to see both of the large men down, and a smiling Rhodey putting Vanko in handcuffs.

“That’s one thing I think we can agree on,” Rhodey said to Vanko. “This guy never stops talking.”

Vanko chuckled, looking at Tony who was getting up from the floor.

“You think you’ve won, Mr. Stark?” Vanko asked. “You have nothing to go home to.”

“Obie will-”

“Obie’s dead,” Vanko said. “That, I took care of myself, as punishment for double crossing me. Which, by the way, you should thank me for.”

“I don’t-” Tony started.

“The party was a setup. Obie’s design. He threw it as a cover so we could carry out a hit on you. However, this plan seemed more profitable.”

“It’s your turn to shut up,” Rhodey said, handing Vanko off to another officer. It didn’t matter, though. Vanko had already done the damage he wanted.

Tony looked thoroughly shaken. He felt as though his breath was caught in his throat, even as Rhodey came over to him. They looked at each other for a moment, until Rhodey grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly for a few seconds before letting go.

“I was afraid I would never see you alive again,” Rhodey said.

Tony let out a small, half-hearted laugh.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he said.

Rhodey led from the workroom and up to the ground level, and for the first time in almost eight days, Tony saw the sun. He winced in the light, and at this point, Rhodey could see how bad a shape he was in. He looked haggard, unshaven, dark bags under his eyes, and sorely in need of a shower. Trying to stop this rescue from turning into a spectacle, Rhodey quickly led Tony over to his squad car, which Pepper was standing next to. As soon as she saw Tony, however, she lost her composure. Small tears trickled out of her eyes, and when she was finally close enough to him, she abandoned her formality and hugged him as well. 

“I should’ve known you’d be the brains behind this operation,” he said into her shoulder.

The hug lasted only another second, however, before she let him go and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Stark,” she said. “I’m- I’m happy to see you alive.”

“Enough with this,” Tony said. Pepper looked shocked, so he continued. “I was in that basement for, well, I don’t even know. As much as I hate to admit it, there was a chance I would’ve never get out alive, and I would kick myself if I let this drag on any longer. Pepper Potts, you’re one of the most capable people I know, and frankly, I love you.”

Pepper blinked at him, stunned for a moment, before she threw her arms around him and pulled him in for a tighter hug. It was pushing Pepper’s limits regarding public displays of affection, but right now, she didn’t care. Tony laughed, smiling into her neck.

“I’ll take that as an, ‘I love you, too,’” he said.

A few minutes later, the two of them were sitting in the back of Rhodey squad car, an exhausted Tony’s head in Pepper’s lap, driving back to the Stark family home. The irony wasn’t lost on any of them, but they chose not to comment on it throughout the drive.

“Is it true that Obie’s dead?” Tony asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Yes,” Rhodey said quietly. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony let out a small, incredulous laugh.

“I can’t believe he put a hit out on me,” Tony said. “Sure, he’d been acting suspiciously, but I still thought he cared for me. Who knows what else he did? Who else did he have killed?”

Rhodey felt his heart beat a little faster, remembering that Tony still didn’t know everything he did. In a moment, he decided it was more worth it, at this moment, to come clean to his best friend.

“Tony,” he started. “There’s something you should know.”

In the next few minutes, Rhodey explained everything. About his meeting with his sergeant, about his secret mission, and most importantly, about how Tony’s parents’ car accident was staged. He couldn’t see Tony in the backseat, but Pepper saw him lie there silent and still until Rhodey had finished speaking.

“How could you keep this from me?” Tony asked finally.

“I was ordered-”

“Screw your orders!” Tony said. “I’m your best friend! How could you not tell me-”

“You don’t get to climb up on your high horse about keeping secrets,” Rhodey said. “You work for the mob! You’re head of a crime family! Ever thought to mention that?”

“I would’ve if it was pertinent information!”

“Really, Tony? Would you have?” Rhodey sighed, turning into Tony’s driveway. He put the car in park and turned around to look at his best friend.

“I think it’s best that we don’t see each other anymore. It’s too much of a conflict of interest. Consider me letting you go to be one last favor.”

Tony looked up at him, lips pressed, face stoic, before sitting up and saying, “fine. Good plan. No more conflict of interest.”

He and Pepper exited the squad car. He then took Pepper’s arm to help him walk up the stairs, and as the two of them went inside, Rhodey stayed staring at the door for a moment. He then put the car in reverse, backed out of the driveway, and drove away from the Stark house for what he felt was the last time.


End file.
